Burn Brighter Together
by Jesusfollower97
Summary: While the war against Morath's forces rages on, Aelin of the wildfire is still a tortured captive of Queen Maeve. To make matters worse, Aelin is pregnant. As time goes on, she must endure seeing her child grow in a traumatic setting. And if rescue ever comes, will they ever heal? (My take of the "What if" possibility that Aelin had been pregnant when taken by Maeve in EOS/KOA)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The "Throne of Glass" series is Sarah J' Maas' , not mine.**

**Prologue:**

Perhaps it's the denial, the gut-wrenching _desperate_ denial, that it isn't the case. Perhaps it's the dark fact that after all the blood loss and injuries her body has sustained it can't be possible. Or perhaps it's the grim acceptance that's finally settled after four months that no one is coming for her that makes Aelin reject the idea. It can't be. Not here. Not now. Yet, as the agonizing days pass, her growth soon becomes apparent to everyone.

And the Queen of the Valg simply smiles.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: "Throne of Glass" series belongs to Sarah J. Maas. Story and characters. I'm just a fan having an ongoing imagination :)**

**CHAPTER 1:**

_**Four months later...**_

"Just breathe, Aelin. In and out. That's it. Keep going. You're doing great," The healer's soothing tone caresses Aelin like a gentle breeze through the burning haze. A haze that began fourteen hours ago. A shift of her raised arms and the metallic clanking of the shackles still restraining her to the altar, reminds her that three of those hours went completely unnoticed.

In the agony of another of Cairn's meticulous sessions, she hadn't recognized the pangs for what they were. Only thing when a small burst of unusual liquid splashed onto the bloodied surface was it discovered; The baby was coming. Her baby. Rowan's baby— and he wasn't here to see him or her come into the world. She was doing this alone.

Aelin has no energy or will left to contain the cry that rushes past her lips as the next natural cue to push comes again all too soon.

The next heir to the throne of Terrasen, her heir, her _child, _born in a torture chamber. If the fact didn't enrage her as much as it did, it might have invoked a joyless laugh. All of the people she's ever dared to love always suffered. Any rays of light she was allotted in her life had a cost. Aelin just didn't understand why the cost had to take its payment from both sides.

The heavy iron door opens with a groan cutting off her musings as her captor strides into the cell. "How much longer, healer?" Maeve demands as she approaches the two women.

Another wave and shriek rolls through Aelin, her body tensing, as the healer answers, "We're almost there, Your Majesty. The child is crowning now." Then directing at her patient, "Keep breathing, you're doing amazing. Can you give me another one?"

Aelin grinds out through her tears, panting, "I have a better idea. How about we switch now; you push and I'll ask the pointless questions?"

The healer lets the agitated words roll off of her with experienced nonchalance, "You're almost there, just a couple more. We just have to get past the shoulders and then you can rest."

After the next wave comes and goes, Aelin rolls her head tiredly toward where Maeve is now beside her— sitting on the lip of the blood-stained altar. Tossing her a confused glare through the slits of the solid mask, Aelin asks breathlessly, "Don't you have somewhere more important to be?"

Maeve folds her moon-white hands delicately atop her lap somehow managing to look regal in this dark and humid pit. "This is a _very_ important matter, Aelin. I've been waiting for this day for months now." With unmistakable glee in her dark eyes, she whispers, "I would not miss it for all the world."

Minutes more pass and soon, through a heavy fog, Aelin Galathynius' world is stopped and started anew as the healer's soft exclamation of "It's a boy!" rings out.

Sagging against the chains, the new mother smiles in pure joy. Relief mixes with the joy at the sound of her son's sweet cries echoing throughout the room. Blinking against the tears and spots in her vision, Aelin looks over at the tiny squirming figure in the healer's arms as she bathes him gently. Her son. The wonder of it— of him— stuns her speechless.

With the baby now cleaned and wrapped in a delicate yellow cloth, the healer walks toward the two queens cradling him close. From where she lay, Aelin can just make out a tuft of bright silver hair atop her baby's head. Fresh tears burn her eyes. She needs to see him up close. Pulling against the unyielding grasp of her bonds, Aelin swallows tightly and rasps out, "Can I hold him?"

The healer starts forward with the intention to lay the child atop his mother's chest but all time seems to freeze as Maeve's hand shoots up in denial.

The queen stands, gazing at the newborn, "I'm going to offer you a say in your son's future, Fire-briger, for I am a gracious ruler," Turning toward her prisoner, expression and tone as hard as stone she continues, "Here are the options: The child will remain with me and be raised as my heir, however I see fit," She pauses as Aelin's piercing gaze widens in horror then finishes, "OR I will allow the child to be brought to his father and remain Terrasen's heir."

Aelin's stare morphs into biting skepticism as her gauntlet clad hands clench into fists,"Care to tell me the catch?"

"I shall ensure the child is safely with his father... _IF_ you tell me the location of the wyrdstone keys. If not, he shall stay with me," A shrug, "I'll have something I want either way." Bracing her hands on the altar she leans down and exhales onto the mask icily, "Choose carefully, dear niece. This is the only time I will allow you to have a say in the child's life."


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All the characters, lines, settings, etc of the "Throne of Glass" series are the brilliance of Sarah J. Maas. I am not the author, just a new fan. Anything you recognize in this story from the books, is Maas' not mine.**

**A/N: Hey whats up readers! I hope you enjoy this story, it was just a brainchild I had and needed to put down and share! It will be a multi-chapter story around 20 chapters long and it's primarily going to center around Aelin and the baby bonding and then recovering once they're back in Terrasen. These first few chapters are just introductory setting the scene chapters and not the main plot so please don't judge too soon! Hope you enjoy and Please R&R! (Also if anyone can help give me some pointers on how to better write Aelin or the other characters in cannon, I'd greatly appreciate the tips!) :D**

**CHAPTER** **2: **

To choose between her child's life and the fate of a war— the fate of Erilea. With one wrong word, Aelin could condemn the entire continent to be massacred or to captivity. With the keys, Maeve would be unstoppable, there's no telling how far she would go. Would there even be anything left of the world Aelin knew if Maeve wielded them? She had told herself when she was captured that at all costs the keys were to be kept safe; their location and bearer confidential. At _ALL _costs— until the baby. Her defenseless child. Could she sacrifice his freedom, his safety, for that of the keys? Aelin felt her heart shatter at the prospect.

Since finding out that the cost of forging the lock would be her life, she had been prepared to die. To give her all to keep her loved ones, her kingdom, safe would be worth it. To give them a chance at the life she had had a taste of— a life she had foolishly come to believe would come to fruition. She had been prepared to surrender any and every single part of her to save her people. But not this part. She never considered her child would ever be part of the asking price.

Seeking solace away from the smothering chains, away from the demanding stares, away from her warring thoughts, she calls brokenly down the silent bond; _Rowan_. How she yearns for his touch. To hear his calming voice assuring her they'll face it together. But yearning changes nothing; she remains alone.

Her eyes lock onto the wailing bundle just out of her reach. If she gives up her baby's rights to know his father, to live free in his own home, he'll live under Maeve's thumb. He will be raised never knowing who he truly is, never truly having a choice or a say in life. A prisoner unknowingly bound. But... alive. Should the alternative come to be, the Valg Queen could draw out his demise for a thousand years or erase his existence with merely half a thought... or still keep him as her own then as well. Aelin's thoughts suddenly freeze. "_I'll have something I want either way."_ A win-win scenario. Either way Maeve will keep her son for herself. The choice of immunity for her child is nothing but another illusive _trick_.

Snapping her eyes back to the deceptive woman before her, Aelin snarls furiously, "Go to hell."

With a small click of the tongue, the dark-haired monarch straightens. Holding Aelin's hostile gaze, she calls, "Cairn." The shrill cries piercing the dense air seem to magnify in Aelin's ears as Maeve turns and takes the infant in her arms.

Cairn steps in at the call, giving an acknowledging bow to his queen's retreating form, and asks, "Continue from where I left off?"

Gently rocking the baby, she responds, "No, put her back in the sarcophagus now." A triumphant grin tossed over her shoulder, "I've gotten enough from her for today."

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"Wake up, _princess_."

The braziers' dim light infiltrates the opened iron box. Aelin tenses. It can't have been long since she was put in here.

The exhaustion from giving birth combined with having her heart basically ripped out of her chest, brought her crashing into unconsciousness the moment Maeve exited the cell. Watching Maeve take her baby away— that moment would haunt Aelin for the rest of her days. Now awake, the grief has not lessened one bit.

Having been here for nine months now she expects the rough hands. Expects being hauled upright by her chains. What she doesn't expect is the tiny whimpering bundle that is placed in her arms. A choked gasp escapes her and she wonders if she's dreaming. She tucks her baby instinctively closer to her chest as an impatient hand falls on her head and twists her head to the side by her hair.

Cairn and Fenrys stand in between her and half a dozen guards. Every one of them as taut as a bowstring. Aelin smirks at the fact that even though she's still chained, anchored into the box, and just gave birth, they are still wary of what she may do. Good. They should be.

"Don't think that the arrangements changed in the slightest. He's not yours to keep." Cairn says. "You're to feed him and then Fenrys will take him back."

Releasing his grip, he takes up a spot next to the door. Aelin turns her attention back to the bundle as a hungry wail is voiced. Her hand, now gauntlet free, shakes as she hesitantly brushes her finger down his cheek. He's perfect. Sobs of joy quietly rack her form. Her baby. She can't soak him in fast enough. He's so light, so fragile, and so soft.

A pointed growl sounds from behind her reminding her this isn't supposed to be a visit. So awkwardly, as she only knows the basic gist of what to do, she lines him up with her breast. As she strokes his silky soft hair, he slowly latches on. His cries cease instantly, body relaxing. It's a weird sensation, Aelin decides, but as his little hand comes up to rest on her chest, she falls in love with it.

Tears streak down her face. He has Rowan's features. Aelin sniffles, running her finger over the delicate point of his ear. Startled by the sudden sound, her baby's eyes spring open and lift up to her face. Her heart manages to leap and sink simultaneously. Vivid blue with a ring of gold. There's no denying his parentage, and she fears the danger that puts him in.

As she can't protect him from Maeve in her current situation, Aelin equips him with what she can. Wishing the cursed mask into oblivion so she could kiss him, Aelin shifts in her heavy chains, leans in close, and breathes, "I wasn't quite ready for you to come into my world yet. It's not safe here at the moment. But since you're here now," She smiles at how calm the baby's become at the sound of her voice, "Know that I love you. That will never change whether we're together or apart." Aelin grasps her son's small fist lightly, "Things are dark right now and we'll both need to be strong to get through it. But if it ever feels hard to be brave, you can remind yourself of this; Your name is Rhoe Whitethorn Galathynius, and you are the prince of Terrasen."

Gaze locked on Rhoe's contented form, she murmurs, "And I hope you will never have a reason to be afraid."


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**:** All the characters, the storyline, the names of locations, etc. from the "Throne of Glass" series all belong to Sarah J. Maas. And that is not moi.**

**A/N: Hey readers! Time for another update! So this chapter is going to realllyyyyyy go AU in that the war between Morath and Terrasen (and everyone else really) is going to be dragged out for the remainder of the time Aelin is with Maeve in this story. Also this chapter will be with Rowan and others, we'll be back with Aelin ****next chapter****. If you have any comments, tips or questions, let me know in the reviews please! Enjoy! :D**

**Chapter 3:**

10 months, four days, and 17 hours. That's how long it's been since Rowan's wife was taken by his former queen. Every time they found a lead, heard something in the gossip of a town, saw a soldier of Doranelle, they pursued.

But no luck. Aelin was simply nowhere to be found.

The thought causes a snarl of frustration to roll out of Rowan as he slashes down a trembling branch blocking his path.

It was as if Maeve were keeping Aelin hidden under some enchantment causing them to search in endless circles. And that certainly seemed the case, for there were hardly any cities, any crevices, left that they hadn't already searched. Is it possible Maeve has moved her to another realm? Well if she has, he would follow. Rowan would go after his mate to the furthest corners of every realm until she was back home. Until she was safe, Rowan would never stop.

"We need to stop." Lorcan sighs.

Barely sparing him a glance as he steps over a moss-covered rock, Rowan replies, "If you wish to leave, be my guest."

"I don't mean looking for her, Whitethorn," Lorcan growls impatiently, swatting at a fly that's been pestering him for the past half hour. Fool thing can't seem to take a hint. "I mean we need to stop in a town again for awhile, regroup, gather intel."

"What intel?" Rowan seethes, having now spun to face his reluctant comrade, "There's nothing to go off of, in case you haven't noticed. Maeve's told no one, left no trail to follow, I can't scent her, there's nothing! And I'm wondering for how much of that do I have _you_ to thank."

Elide steps to the side of their path and leans against an unforgiving bamboo trunk. Uncorking her water pouch, she tunes out the argument. It's become almost a daily occurrence that the two go at each other. And quite frankly, she had no issue with the possibility of Rowan attacking the other male.

Gavriel stops at her side, silently observing the pair. He speaks up just as a muscle begins to twitch in Lorcan's jaw, "Rowan, we know there's no leads on Aelin right now. But it's been weeks since we've had any correspondence with Orynth."

Back at around the five-month point of Aelin's absence, the group had been in Bellhaven. A day before they were to depart the hub of the city, they found and followed a lone foot-soldier of Doranelle's army into a rickety tavern.

Sitting under the shadows of their hoods and back table, they observed their prey. The hunt was interrupted, however, as two stout men's conversation had been overheard, "I say, did ya hear the news about the Terrasen army?" the brown haired one asked digging into a soft wheat roll.

"What, 'bout those Mycenians returnin' from legend? Ack, I heard 'bout tha months ago," the red haired one with a sleek beard that brushed his chest replied.

The brunette gossip shook his head, leaning in, "No this is new news! Just three days ago, a sixth of Terrasen's army practically fell on their own swords they did. Said to be somethin' that influenced 'em from those demon creatures Morath keeps throwin' at 'em."

That was all Rowan had needed to hear before he discreetly left the inn in search of a messenger hawk.

The exchange in the following three days had been short and simple. Rowan's message had read,

"_I heard the news, Aedion. Do you require our aid?_

_-Rowan W. G._

_Her Majesty's consort"_

Aedion's message had responded,

"_We're in much more need of my delightful cousin at the moment._

_Bring her back to us. Fast._

_-Aedion A._

_General of Her Majesty's army"_

And that had been that.

Ever since that time, Rowan had made it a point to get a status update every two weeks.

Now it was nearing a month since the last contact.

Mouth set in a firm line, Rowan steps back and says, "Ten months. It's been _ten months. _And everyday that goes by is another day she is..." Rowan looks at them all sullenly, throat bobbing, _"Ten months..."_

He turns sending out a gust of his wind as he stalks ahead on the path, "We'll head into a town soon. But not yet. Not yet..."

In another weeks' time, at an inn of Banjali, a reply is sent back to Rowan's newest message that only reads,

"_Morath has pushed us to the gates"_

Without a word, the group immediately left for Terrasen.

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"If you hadn't gotten here when you did, I don't know what— Your appearance gave the men the boost they needed. Just— thank you for coming so soon," Aedion shook his head in disbelief.

They had come so close today to having to fall back to the palace's walls. Aedion had been about to call the command when the left flank of Morath's garrison had been felled before anyone could blink. With a smile, the command had died on his tongue. They would not be retreating today.

His brother in arms now strode at his side down the bustling hall and replied, "We should all be thanking Manon. Her coven and the Crochan's' reinforcements ensured our relief lasted."

Aedion pushed a large oak door with ornately carved leaves open leading into a warm room. A small layout of food rests on a nearby table surrounded by dozens of cushions and mildly dusty sofas. Elide and Aedion swarm the food instantly but Rowan walks past them to the crackling fire. Lysandra enters behind Lorcan and Gavriel, closing the door.

"Still no luck?" Aedion asks the room.

Elide shakes her head in answer, picking at her bread, "None so far."

Lysandra, in her own form, tiredly sits on one of the couches. She looks to Rowan's brooding figure, "Have you tried Doranelle?"

Gavriel answers for him, "Yes twice now. But Maeve hasn't been back there since she took Aelin it seems."

Aedion frowns, "Could she be hiding her under some type of illusion? Maybe herself too?"

"I've been thinking that for months now," Rowan growls lowly, grabbing everyone's attention, "And if it's the case, how're we supposed to get around it?"

The room falls painfully silent, contemplative. The soft ticking of the clock beside the door is the only answer.

"I want to go with you this time." Aedion says suddenly.

Rowan turns to look at the scraped up demi-fae, "Aren't you still needed here, _General_?"

"Killian can take my place for a bit. And Darrow's the one calling the shots at the moment anyway." Aedion replies, taking a bite of overcooked pheasant.

"Aelin told you to stay here." Rowan says with an air of finality.

"She told you the same thing, but I don't see you listening to her." Aedion shot back, setting the plate aside.

Rowan bared his teeth, shoulders tensing, "She's my _wife_. I'm not going to just _leave_ her to—"

"No one's expecting you to, Rowan," Lysandra cuts in quietly, staring at her hans that have borne her queen's skin too many times, "But you're not the only one who misses her."

Aedion deflates, looking at the dancing flames of the hearth, "We all need her back. I know it's different for you, but I need her back too."

Gavriel leans forward, elbows on his knees, and volunteers, "I'll stay behind. To aid the troops here, if that's alright?"

Aedion nods his acceptance of the offer dismissively.

"Gather what you need, Aedion, and get some sleep. We'll leave before dawn." Rowan orders tonelessly, leaving the room and everyone to their thoughts.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All rights for characters and settings and story etc. of "Throne of Glass" series are Sarah J. Maas'.**

**CHAPTER 4:**

_**Over two years later**_**_..._**

Aelin loves books— had loved them for as far back as she could remember. And she was beginning to think her son had inherited the interest.

"What this?" Rhoe chirped for the dozenth time pointing to a random word on the page.

Glancing briefly at the word his chubby little finger was resting on before finishing the sentence she was currently writing, Aelin answered, "That says "hawk"."

The delicate follow up "Oh" hangs in the air for a moment before it's quickly joined by another, "What this?"

"That's an "A". It's the first letter in the alphabet."

"Oh"

Almost everyday since Rhoe turned two, Aelin and Fenrys have been working on this storybook. Fenrys drew the characters and scenes while Aelin wrote the story. Now it was nearing seven months since they first began the project. The reasons for the wait were numerous: Some days Aelin was... preoccupied... and unable to spend time with Rhoe at all. Some days Rhoe needed her attention more than the book did. And other days, ink was spilled on pages, pages were torn or crinkled beyond recognition, and then like today...

"I heping!"

Aelin gasps then groans at the mess, "Not again."

Contentedly oblivious, Rhoe continued dipping his hands in the ink well and returns back to painting the whole page in scribbles and little finger prints.

"You gotta admit he's a natural in the art of finger paint," Fenrys said handing Aelin the cup of water and rag he'd learned to bring for such instances, "Really puts himself into it."

"With fervor," Aelin mutters, wiping the whining toddlers (and her own) hands until she can see the normal hue of skin again. She sets the smudged page aside and hands the ink to Fenrys, "Weren't you supposed to be teaching him the alphabet?"

Simultaneously, Fenrys said, "I am," as Rhoe denies enthusiastically, "No!"

Aelin's eyes glint with amusement while Fenrys pouts and he says, "Don't listen to this one, I've been reciting the ABCs to him so much I've started being haunted by them in my dreams."

Rolling her eyes, she retorts, "Well you could probably use the refresher."

"Please! I've known my alphabet about a whole year now." He says sniffing haughtily and brushing invisible dust off his dull tunic.

Rhoe leans back on Aelin, arching his back to look up at her, "Mama."

"I'd have thought knowing the alphabet would've been a basic qualification for becoming one of Maeve's henchmen?" Aelin drawled.

Rhoe let go of the book in his lap to pat Aelin's arm impatiently, big blue eyes still gazing up at her, "Mama."

"You know many think that actually, but Cairn got accepted so I guess it's more like a preference than a requirement," Fenrys cajoled.

Huffing out a shuddering breath at the lack of response, Rhoe quickly turned in her lap and stood up, facing her. He resumed his patting on the front of the cold mask this time, "Mama."

"I had wondered about that—Yes, hi, can I help you?" Aelin cut herself off with a laugh as her line of vision was fully obstructed by the little face pressed up against her mask. His innocent eyes peering closely through the slits into hers.

Rhoe giggles, pulling back slightly, and twirls a strand of her long hair in his hands as he asks, "Read'me?" He twists to point down at the uncompleted book.

Aelin lifts her bound hands up, holding the chain away from his head with one hand. Gently brushing the shiny soft hair out of his eyes and off his forehead with the fingers on her other, saying, "It's not finished yet, Rhoe. Don't you want to wait until it's all done?"

Rhoe shook his head, quickly sat back down, and picked the book back up, "No pease."

Fenrys smiles, saying, "'Wait' isn't a word in a two-year old's vocabulary."

Aelin helped her son turn the pages to the beginning, asking Fenrys, "And since when are you an expert on toddlers?"

"Since I've been a stay-at-home-male for over the past two years," He shot back.

Aelin tried to ignore the wave of sadness and inexplicable jealousy that came over her at his comment. There was nothing she could do about the arrangement. She should be glad that at least it was Fenrys that Maeve was having raise her son... the thought didn't help any.

Her mood softened though as Rhoe leaned back against Aelin again, so she didn't respond to Fenrys comment and instead began reading, "Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms; one of green and one of silver..."

The book went on to describe a princess stag of the first kingdom that had a happy home; one filled with joy, laughter, adventure, and loving family and friends. Thanks to Fenrys' artistic aid, a couple pages solely depicted brightly colored forest fauna—which Rhoe loved to run his fingers over—and all the animal friends. One in particular Aelin pointed out, "...and this one's name is Aedion. He's the princess' best friend and cousin. She loved him very much."

Rhoe listened attentively as the story continued onto it's sad turn of events. It spoke of how one day the princess' home was taken away from her and she ended up far away for a long time. She missed her home everyday and hoped to return. Then one day the princess stag met a prince hawk from the kingdom of silver. "...the princess was rather busy but the buzzard seemed determined to meet her so she introduced herself to the prince, "My name is Aelin, and yours?" The prince looked at her with his striking green eyes and said, "I know of you, princess. My name is Rowan,"."

Suddenly, Rhoe interjects excitedly, "Me!"

Aelin snorts, "No not "Rhoe", "Ro_wan_". He's your papa."

The silence that follows voices Rhoe's confusion. Then he points to Fenrys, looking back at Aelin for confirmation. Fenrys smiles sadly, glancing for a split-second at Aelin before he answers for her, "No Rhoe-ly-poly, I'm not papa."

"You haven't met him yet, but you will. I've talked to you before though about your papa, remember?" Not remembering or understanding, Rhoe turns his attention back to the book and starts flipping ahead. Aelin continues on, "He's very tall, he has the greenest eyes, same hair color as yours, same nose..." Aelin ignores her aching heart and presses on, "He has art on the side of his face that tells a story. And he has magic too, like Fenrys, but his is wind and ice."

Noticing that he's now flipped all the way to the last of the finished pages, Aelin tells Rhoe playfully, "Hang on... that's not where we were..."

Rhoe only held the page down, chubby cheeks looking all the more kissable as he gazed at the book, replying, "Yes is... EEE!"

The room was filled with the joyous squeals and giggles of the two-year old as his mother mercilessly attacked his most ticklish spots. She said through involuntary giggles of her own, "Oh it is, you say? It is? Is that right? Are you sure it is?"

Fenrys smiled broadly and laughed along with the two, enjoying the light moment—right up until a stray little elbow flew back with precision into one of Aelin's recent injuries.

Aelin muffled her yelp of pain as quickly as she could. Ceasing the tickling instantly. In hindsight, she realized a tickle attack in such close quarters might not have been the best idea with fractured ribs. Live n learn.

Having realized something was wrong, Rhoe turned towards his mother, "Mama okay?" His little hand reaches out in comfort as Fenrys intercepts.

Lifting Rhoe out of Aelin's lap, he says, "Come on, Rhoe, gotta be more careful—"

"No! NO!" Rhoe cries, panic quickly scaling in his tone. He shoots his arm out to grab onto Aelin's shift, unwilling to leave. But he hadn't entirely left her lap before Aelin came to his rescue, grabbing him back from Fenrys sharply.

"Don't touch him!" Aelin snarls at Fenrys, tucking Rhoe close as he clings to her.

Fenrys jerks back a bit in surprise, eyes wide, before confusion settles in, "I was just trying to help, you're hurt so—"

"I'm _fine_. If I need help with _my _son, I'll let you know," She snaps.

Slowly comprehension fills the warrior at the possessive statement, shoulders falling, "I'm sorry, Aelin."

Aelin nods, relenting for the time being, understanding that his apology went deeper than just for the present moment.

Rocking as much as her ribs allow, Aelin strokes Rhoe's back gently. Once his muscles have untensed she asks, "Would you like to get back to the story now?"

Rhoe doesn't respond for a moment but then nods slowly. He turns his face from the crease of his mother's neck slightly in order to see the book— but _only _slightly. Arms and legs still locked tight around her.

Aelin shifted her position with a wince as she flipped to the correct page. She'd been sitting so long her legs had gone numb. The unforgiving manacles that ran from her ankles to a bolt in the floor rattled loudly but she spoke over them quickly, "Okay, I think we left off at meeting Rowan. Let's see... here it is: ...The hawk prince then lead the princess to a strange kingdom..."

The storybook was really an act of rebellion in more ways than just the making of it. For as it continued on it told of a nasty witch with a "nose as pretty as a pig's and the intelligence to match" that forced prince Rowan to do many unpleasant things before the princess set him free. It told of her fire and of his ice and wind. It also told of how the two were married and had a baby boy they loved with all their hearts, Rhoe Whitethorn Galathynius, a prince of the green and silver kingdoms.

Now sitting back in his usual position in her lap, Rhoe looks on, fascinated, as Aelin points out all the animals. She read on, "...the horses, birds, porcupines, foxes and all of the princess' other friends were very happy to meet the tiny prince. Some waved—"

"Aelin, someone's coming," Fenrys says abruptly cutting her off. He sprung to his feet, snatching up all the papers and materials he's brought in as quietly as he could. Aelin hears the hard voices a moment later and helps gather everything up, shoving it into his hands.

Shooting her a look of regretful request he says, "We have to go."

Having done this far too many times by now, Aelin steels herself. Ignoring the pain it causes her, she hugs Rhoe tightly and swiftly, promising like always, "I'll see you later, Rhoe."

Of course, at the familiar words and actions, Rhoe dissolves into hysterics again, "_No_!"

Fenrys is ready though, and right before the toddler goes into death-grip mode, he swoops him out of Aelin's arms.

The tear streaked face, outstretched arms, and gut-wrenching shrieks of, "NO! _MAMA_!" stays with Aelin long after they disappear within the flare of Fenrys' magic. Not even the dreaded opening of her cell door, nor the sight of the sadist who strides through it, is enough to make her forget.

**A/N: Helloooooo readers! Thank you for your support and encouragement in the reviews and favorites/follows. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you didn't, no worries, the plot for the next chapter should make up for it. I'm already starting on that one and can't wait to upload it. So be on the look out for that one! But be warned that the next chapter will be much more serious as it will move the plot further along so don't expect too much fluff. Anyway, anyone enjoying the time jumps? Yes? No? Please let me know your thoughts and comments or questions in the reviews! Until the next chapter! ~V**

**A/N P.S: BTW! If anyone is interested, I'm considering doing a companion story to this one. It'll be called "Outtakes of a stay-at-home-male" and it'll be a collection of short one-shots of Fenrys' adventures in taking care of infant and toddler Rhoe. The tone will be mainly humorous. Anyone interested? Please let me know in the reviews! :)**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: The** **"Throne of Glass" series and anything you recognize in here ain't mine!**

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains one censored cuss word, emotional struggle due to affects of torture, and a brief vague moment of a character's memory of torture. Not too intense but please read at your own discretion. **

**CHAPTER 5:**

_**One year**_** later...**

With everyday now that passes, Aelin feels herself slipping. Disappearing without her consent bit by bit. She'd been trained to handle torture. Knew to detach herself from the events. Knew to breathe and remind herself of who she was and for whom and what she had to survive. Knew to tell herself that it won't last forever. But as more and more time went by, it was all getting harder to remember, harder to do. It's been four years. Four years and they won't give up. Four years and she hasn't given in. Held out for _four years_; perhaps she should be proud of that. Perhaps she would be... if rescue were near. If this was the end of it. But no one is coming for her. No one will help.

It'll never stop.

There's no way of getting herself free. She knows because she's tried. She's tried far more times than she can count to find a weakness in her binds. She's tried goading and manipulating Maeve's lapdogs. She's watched, waited, for opportunities. She's even resorted to asking the healers. But it was all ineffective. They'll never help. They'll never stop. It'll never stop.

"Aelin?" Someone calls nearby but she doesn't hear it.

It'll never stop.

They call again, tone somber, carefully laying a hand on her arm, "Aelin."

She only remains staring off, lost in reliving the horrors of the latest session. Breathing shakily.

mYet the next call from a higher, sweeter, voice, is like a guiding light, "Mama?"

She turns her head slowly to the voice. Fenrys stands beside the altar with Rhoe perched on his hip. The pair gaze down at her with varying degrees of worry written on their faces. Rhoe is quick to break the solemnity though, delighted grin springing onto his face, "G'morning, mama!"

Fenrys sits on the platform without further preamble and releases Rhoe who quickly scoots over to Aelin.

Gradually, Aelin feels both calm and some level of herself come back as she looks him over. She takes in the soft features still rounded by his young years, the healthy hair that's sticking straight up messily on one side of his head, and the dazzling eyes staring down at her in concern. Rhoe asks, "Are you—" He's interrupted by a rather large yawn, "—okay?"

She swallows hesitantly, her throat still sore from earlier, and whispers, "Yes." He's not reassured despite her answer so she pastes on a big smile to make the lie more believable. It must be successful because Rhoe happily beams back.

He sits back on his heels and bounces up and down then saying, "Guess what! I read— I read "At"! In my book."

Aelin's smile softened into a genuine one as she breathed, "You did?"

The toddler nodded continuing, "Yeah! All over! I readed it. To my ribbit and—"

"Your ribbit?" Aelin asked momentarily lost.

Fenrys jumped in to translate, "His new stuffed frog."

Rhoe picked back up, "He's green. And his hands are um—they're—mama look—like this," He looked down as he laid his hands flat on the stone and did his best to move his fingers into three sections, mimicking the odd positioning.

Aelin tore her gaze from his sweet face and lifted her head to look at his hands. She responded quietly, "Yep, they look just like a "ribbit's"."

The three-year old giggled briefly then resumed his happy rambling; reveling in his mother's undivided attention.

"Rhoe," Fenrys broke in during the third exaggerated retelling of what happened with his tugboat bath toy weeks ago, "Didn't you want to tell mama about what else happened yesterday?"

Rhoe fell silent, fidgeting with the edge of Aelin's shift, then repeats, "What else?"

Brows raised, Fenrys prods, "When you got scared with the fly...?"

Rhoe let go of the material with a cry of, "The bug!" Eyes wide, mouth set in a slight pout he looked at Aelin, "A bug was in—in—in my um room. And he flied! Here!" He grabbed his ear.

Aelin gasped dramatically, "He didn't!"

Rhoe nodded wildly, "He was so loud! Said bzzzzz and I— and— and he went and flew and I don't know where!"

Fenrys tried to move the story along kindly, "And what happened after the fly landed? What did you do?"

"I watch him," Rho answered simply, twisting toward Fenrys.

Aelin prompted this time, "Then what?"

Rhoe turned back and picked up, "Then—then he walked at me. And scares me!" Rhoe rocked on his knees, scooting around as he built up the story, "Bug bites!"

Aelin glanced at Fenrys, hoping he informed Rhoe that flies can't bite or hurt him. Her heart about stopped then as she heard the finale of the tale.

Rhoe mimicked an explosion with his hands as he finished, "And then he whoosh! And blue— and he—and Fenrys said magic! The bug all gone!" Rhoe beamed, proud of his conquering the fly, but Aelin was frozen.

She stared at her son in shock and whispered, "Your magic's shown up." Her eyes darted sharply to Fenrys then, seeking confirmation.

Fenrys mirrored her mix of emotions in his gaze and nodded, stating, "He has your fire," A huff, "Burned straight through half of the rug! There weren't even any ashes left from the burned portion either. It seemed different—his magic. I mean it was unmistakable fire but it looked more like... the glow of stars."

Aelin looked back at Rhoe, taking it all in. Then said hoarsely, "My little starlight... I'm glad you're not hurt." He just shrugged shyly, so Aelin added, "And I'm happy that you got the bug."

Rhoe brightened at that and pulled himself nearer to Aelin. He paused abruptly though, looking at her raised arms.

Aelin saw the uncertainty and crooned, "Come here, Rhoe."

The young prince needed no further encouragement. He laid down; snuggled close against her side.

Aelin inhaled her child's scent deeply then asked her friend, "Does she know?"

Fenrys shook his head, "No, not yet."

Aelin knew this day would come. Knew it was the main reason Maeve wanted Rhoe. The strong magic that would surely be in the veins of her and Rowan's child had been too great a temptation for the dark queen to pass up. She knew it would happen, but it didn't make her fear it any less now.

Reading her worry, Fenrys promised, "I'll do my best to keep it hidden from her for as long as possible."

"Even if she doesn't see, all she has to do is ask you." Aelin sighed.

Fenrys combed his fingers through his hair, "She may not though, who knows."

"She will." Aelin closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of her son's small form. She heard his breathing quiet and steady out and looked at Fenrys in question, mouthing, '_Did he fall asleep_?'

Fenrys looks down at the boy and grins tenderly, nodding. He explains, "We got woken up by a crash from some maids out in the hall earlier. This one was too alert then to go back to sleep, so we decided to come see if you were up too."

They both watched as Rhoe nuzzled closer to her and a small huff of breath sounded, but he remained in deep sleep.

Fenrys lowered his voice, "It amazes me how easily you can get him to sleep. Since we finished the book, reading it to him is the only way I can get him to sleep now. I read it to him every night, at every naptime, and at least a dozen times in-between. He carries it around with him everywhere."

Aelin had seen him bring it on several of their visits— and she'd always obliged when he'd asked her to read it to him. But there were more times that he came down empty handed. Her brow creased as she asked, "Why doesn't he bring it down here that often?"

"Because you're here, I think," He replied easily. "The storybook in the only thing he has of you so it's comforting when he can't be with you. He still..." He looked at the pair with a sad smile, "He still cries when we return to our room after seeing you, you know."

Aelin's stomach clenched, "Still? I thought you said he's been calming?"

"He was— well I thought he was— but it's not been often and I'm not so sure it's better," Fenrys propped himself up on his elbows as he reclined back on the unyielding surface, "He's either going over to the spot we stand in to transport to you and laying down and crying himself to sleep there, or he's grabbing the storybook and laying down hugging it in total silence for an hour. And either way he won't respond to me— except to occasionally push me away or ask to go back to you."

"Have you been explaining to him why he can't?" Aelin asked.

"No, I've mainly been focusing on assuring him that we will later."

Aelin scoffed, "That's not enough. He needs to know why."

Fenrys jaw went slack with incredulity, "Oh right, like explaining the situation will make him feel better. I can just see it, "Mama's being tortured for information right now but then once she's cleaned up and conscious again—"

"Don't be a smart*ss," Aelin hissed. "I just don't want him thinking I don't want to be with him because I'm always sending him away."

Fenrys looked away dismissively, "I don't think he thinks that, Aelin."

"You don't know though," She pressed.

"You see how excited he gets when he sees you," Fenrys shrugged, "I don't think he'd light up that way if he felt that you didn't want to spend time with him."

Aelin wasn't convinced, "He gets excited because he's three."

"He gets excited because he loves you and feels loved by you." Fenrys stated firmly.

"Crying himself to sleep doesn't sound like he feels loved." She countered.

Fenrys sighed wearily but didn't comment.

For a few minutes, Aelin contemplated quietly before venturing hesitantly, "Maybe if I tell them where... they... are, things will be better for both of us."

Fenrys jerked in surprise, eyes darting around worriedly, "Are you serious?"

She only swallows tightly, staring at the rocky ceiling in answer.

Fenrys sat up, shoulders tense, "You know whatever would happen, it would be anything but "better"."

"Would it?" Aelin breathed, "Rhoe could go home, could be with Rowan. And I—"

"And Maeve would kill you, Aelin." His tone hardened, "Do you think that'll be "better" for Rhoe; losing his mother?"

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut. Tear drops slipped out and down into her unkempt hair.

When she doesn't respond, Fenrys pleads, "Don't let them win."

Memories of the last session replay over in her mind again: _Cairn. The extra guards. The sweating, shaking but concentrated healer. The hands and tools keeping her mouth open. The glass shards. The_ pain._ Her body's swallowing reflex working against her. His gleeful taunting, "I know the location of the keys is in here... somewhere..."_

"Aelin," Fenrys calls, looking down at her sorrowfully, a grounding hand on her arm again.

"It'll never stop," Aelin shuttered, straining steadily against her shackles, "It'll never stop. It's been _four years_."

The older Fae's heart sank at the reminder of that fateful day on the beach. Four years ago today. At a loss for words, he could only sit with the captive queen as she lost herself in the agonized mantra, "It'll never stop. It'll never stop. It'll never stop."

TOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOGTOG

It's a week later that Aelin is startled awake by the clattering of the iron box's lid opening. Two sets of coarse hands reach in quickly, pulling her out. A glimpse of his stony expression is all she sees before Cairn shoves the old black sack over her head.

Metal links rattle in front of her. The guards at her sides continue holding her up as someone swiftly attaches a new chain. Her worn muscles protest and she stifles a groan at the added weight. A testing tug results in a pull on both her wrist and ankle restraints. Charming.

She's yanked forward as Cairn grabs the chain and leads them out of the cell saying, "Hope you enjoyed playing parent."

**A/N: Howdy-hey! Hope you enjoyed the update, the next two chapters should be up soon! Also the first one shot of the companion story "Outtakes of a stay-at-home-male" is up now for those of you who were interested! I'll be updating that one when I'm about half way through each of the chapters for this story. Thank you thank you thank you for all my awesome reviewers and followers! Your support and words make my day :) :) :) Also tiny sneak peek; the next chapter will not be a time jump but will pick up where this one left off. The one after will be another time jump though. Question: Aren't you all just in suspense about when rescue will come? Will it even? *chuckles maniacally* Until next time~ V**


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters. Still not mine.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Moderate torture and blood from a bite. Please read with caution. Also NOTE: "Metacarpals" are the part of the bones in the fingers that go from your wrist to your knuckles. **

**Chapter 6:**

The chains smacked and scraped harshly against the surfaces as she was briskly ushered through the halls. Her labored breathing echoed within the confines of the hood.

Five right turns. Four left. Two staircases.

When her closest guards tighten their grips slightly on her arms, she suspects they're approaching the destination. Familiar rough stone turns to slick marble beneath Aelin's bare feet. A sharp stop, and the sack is torn from her head—taking a few hairs with it.

The well-known scent of fresh cotton and honey hits a split second before his voice rings throughout the throne room in recognition, "Mama!"

Cold dark of nightfall engulfs the spacious room, disrupted only by a few flickering flames. One of which danced wildly in a short brassier directly beside the arm of the occupied throne—beside the ancient queen and the child on her lap.

Panic shot through Aelin at the sight. From head to toe, she scanned her son's form intently. There was tautness straightening his posture but thankfully—for the sake of the female holding him—there were no signs of injury. Still, Aelin's lips pulled back into a defiant snarl behind the mask as she finally lifted her gaze to Maeve.

Shadows scattered across the stern face of the monarch. The train of her thin onyx gown hauntingly pooled on the dais around her feet as though spun from her magic rather than silk. As Maeve's fingers clenched on the throne arm's edge, someone's foot slammed into the backs of Aelin's knees. The mask and irons smacked against the marble floor sharply as several hands forced her the rest of the way into a complete bow.

Rhoe's surprised gasp reverberated in the quiet space. He pointedly scolded the guards, "That's not nice!"

A brief huff of laughter escaped Aelin at the innocent remark. She and Fenrys had just started teaching Rhoe about when it is or isn't appropriate to hit; it seemed he was beginning to understand well enough.

A grunt was pulled from her as another hand buried itself in her hair and jerked her back up, settling her on her knees. She lifted her gaze back again to Rhoe, who was squirming to get down. Maeve easily kept hold of him though and her mouth curved into a mirthless smile as she said, "I discovered a secret from my heir today," Her hand abandoned it's grip on the throne to reach behind the toddler. She lifted up a lovingly worn book from her lap, "Your gift."

The sight of the familiar pages caused a knot to form in Aelin's core.

"Of course, while this was _very_ interesting," The dark queen weighed the book in her hand, "What I discovered from Fenrys intrigued me more. As _Rhoe_—I believe it was—proved further when you entered here... you've been seeing him behind my back. Frequently, from Fenrys' report. And not merely visiting, but filling his head with this false reality," Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "And it is _false, _for the child is a prince of Doranelle, _my heir_, not a prince of Terrasen. And not yours, though you seem to have forgotten that part of our bargain."

Aelin's knuckles turned to white as the skin strained tightly over them at the possessive words, but she kept silent.

"I will ensure you remember after today. I have already dealt with Fenrys for his treachery and have modified my command to him concerning the child," Maeve kept her attention on her prisoner and slightly caressed Rhoe's soft tunic clad stomach, "Fenrys was to cease bringing him to you once the child was no longer in need of nursing. I believed that would be understood. But apparently, my wolf needs a constant leash. Thus, as of today, he is forbidden from aiding my heir to see or have any form of contact with you."

"And as for this," The storybook was lifted higher and Maeve gave it a quick inspection, "This is now but a memory."

Aelin started forward with a silent cry of '_No!_' on her lips but was yanked back firmly by her guards. She could do nothing but watch as the book that was toiled over for almost a year, that told of a story more precious to her than any riches, that became the security blanket and hero of her baby's sleepless nights, was fed into the fire.

"No! My book!" Rhoe's squirming instantly changed to struggling then, arms reaching out desperately for the book that was quickly fading to ashes in the brassier, "THAT'S MY BOOK!"

He looked back and forth between Aelin and the fire in building distress. Crocodile tears soon begun to race down his delicate flushing cheeks. One hand shoving at the resolute arm around his waist, the other still reaching toward the flames, he wailed, "_MY BOOK! MAMA!_"

A short sob broke out of Aelin at the pure heart-break in his voice.

When the last of the book crumpled away, Rhoe dropped his arm. He leaned forward and threw his hands over his eyes. Wailing cries slowly morphed into deep breathless sobs. Tear droplets that escaped his trembling fingers polka dotted his light brown trousers.

"Starlight," Aelin called gently, shakily, "It's okay, the book can be re-made—"

"Re-made? By who, Aelin? Certainly not by you or Fenrys," Maeve interrupted coldly, "As I stated before, for his part in it, Fenrys has received his punishment. Don't think that this—," She gestures to the still flaming brassier where the book's ashes lay,"—was all there was to yours."

The grip on her hair finally releases and Cairn steps around to face Aelin—the familiar heavy hammer in his hand.

The remaining guards shove her down again, bent at the waist. Cairn kneels to the side, still facing her, and snatches the chain linking her wrists. He gestures to one of the guards behind her and he comes to her other side. Together they flatten out her hands on the smooth tiles and Aelin snaps her head back up. She protests in horror, "You're going to make him watch this?"

Unphased, the dark-haired Fae queen only glowered in answer.

Aelin's eyes dart down to her son, and she makes herself swallow her rage at the situation. Rhoe sniffed pitifully and wiped at his running, red tipped nose. Tears still dribbled down his face and Aelin softened her tone again, "Rhoe. Close your eyes," His blue-eyes stared down at her questioningly but she pressed on, "Close your eyes. Don't watch, Starlight."

Sliding the young prince closer on her lap, Maeve ordered, "Begin Cairn."

Once she saw Rhoe cover his eyes again, Aelin ducked her head. She stared at the loose threads hanging from the hem of her battered white shift. There were four of them, all different lengths, laying on her thigh. She counted those and the others resting on her opposite leg as she felt the cold metal of the hammer touch the base knuckle of her index finger.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale—

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap... WHAM! CRACK._

Aelin jerks and clamps her jaw shut hard on the shriek that wrests its way up her throat, muffling it as best she can.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Nine threads on the other side of the hem.

The hammer slides over the base of her middle finger next.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap... WHAM! CRACK. WHAM! CRACK. _

The three-year-old jumped at the first agonized scream that tore out of his mother and he dropped his hands from his wide eyes.

A string of saliva hung suspended out of the mask, a trembling breath causing it to waiver and fall.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Aelin struggled to regain her bearings after the unexpected double hit. Cairn had broken the expected knuckle and then three of the bones that met together at the base of her hand. Son of a—

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap..._

Aelin twitched reflexively as the hammer tapped on her thumb's base knuckle.

Inhale, exhale, inhale—

_SNAP!_

This time Aelin's tortured scream entwined with a frightened one. She panted roughly through the pain that radiated from her crooked pinky finger.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap..._

"No!" Came a high pitched tearful cry from the dais, "Stop!"

_WHAM! CRACK. WHAM! CRACK. WHAM! CRACK._

"_MAMA_!" The two screams coincided again. Rhoe struggled and pushed desperately at the pale arm holding him, terrified sobs wracking his small form, "LET GO! I WANT MY MAMA!"

Arm vibrating with the constant rolling pain shooting through, Aelin dropped her weight to her opposite elbow. Her breaths labored out of her hotly. She would kill them for this—for making him witness this— and she would take her time.

Links clattered and a small cry left her as Cairn carelessly pushed her shattered and swollen hand back towards her. Aelin took in the multiple colors blooming on her broken hand. She couldn't move her fingers, couldn't feel them, only pain.

The guard's grabbed her untouched hand and spread it out like the first one. The weight of the hammer's steel head ran over the skin, tracing her hand.

"Hmm, which one should I start with this time..." Cairn pondered excitedly, entirely ignoring the ongoing hysterical crying behind him, "Want to pick the finger, Princess?"

Her blazing blue-eyes met his hungry ones. Aelin jerked her hand to show him which finger was reserved for him but the guard held her in place. Cairn's grin only spread wider as he seemed to read the message in her eyes. He returns his attention then to his work. Hammer stopping on the little finger's top two joints.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap... _

Aelin tensed. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale—

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap... _

A nervous exhale tumbles out.

_WHAM! CRACK. WHAM! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK. _

Her voice pierces the night air again as the thumb's base knuckle then remaining metacarpals were all smashed.

A different sharp cry sounds from the throne this time. Aelin lifts her head, sobbing through her teeth, in time to see two little feet hit the top of the dais. Maeve sits alone, gripping her forearm where blood seeps out from two small puncture marks.

Rhoe makes it all of three steps down— wiping his mouth— before Maeve waves a guard over. He's scooped up in the male's arms with his foot in mid-air over the last step. He twists and pushes against the guard's grip in frustration, "No!"

The guard strains his neck back as one of Rhoe's flailing arms almost nails him in the face. He looks to Maeve for instruction, wincing as the toddler's screaming rises in volume again.

Maeve presses the fabric of her skirt against her wound and says, "Take him back to his room," Her soulless gaze turns down, "Say goodbye, Aelin."

A deafening rushing fills Aelin's ears then and her guards increase their grip as she strains forward. Everything goes silent. There's movement around her but all she sees is her son.

His mouth is open, calling for her. His light, tiny eyebrows furrowed. Dazzling eyes swimming in terror. Soft silver strands swaying over his forehead. Shaking hand outstretched over the guard's shoulder toward her. She's unaware if he can even hear her but she says her love to him over and over. He blinks— wobbling lips still forming her name in a scream— as they turn the corner into the hall and more tears slide down adding to his soaked cheeks.

Aelin falls limp. Three drops of water hit the floor below her but the sudden numbness doesn't allow more than that.

There's a pressure at the back of her head and soon the mask falls from her face. The grips on her shoulders ease when the toes of Cairn's boots come into her line of vision. One boot plants itself onto her chest and shoves her onto her back.

The two guards shift their holds, now pressing her onto the pristine tiles. Sounds fade back in.

"—where the keys are, Fire-bringer, and I will consider sparing you from this portion of your penance," Maeve offers.

Aelin ignored her and watched as Cairn accepted a gleaming metal bowl from a pale servant. The third guard took a spot behind her. The warm skin of his calloused palms came upon either side of her head, restraining. Cairn walked steadily back over, eyes on the bowl.

The substance's strong scent within it assaulted Aelin, registering in her mind; Acid. Her chest tightened and hands spasmed as she tugged against her snug shackles.

Cairn knelt beside her and set the bowl down with a _plink._

At Aelin's silence, Maeve sighed, "Your will would impress me if it didn't exasperate me so," She tilted her head considering the bound female in the dim lighting, "On the day the child was born, I made you an offer; the keys or the child. You chose the keys. And yet, you still managed to have them both. It doesn't work that way, Aelin," The crackling of the fire was the only sound as she let the statement sink in, then finished, "This is your punishment, as well as insurance that you will uphold your end of the deal from now on," Her skirt rustled quietly, letting it drop from her injury, and settled back against the throne, "You may proceed, Cairn."

Aelin saw him, out of the corner of her eye, pull on a thick glove and out a tattered rag from his pocket. The liquid made a light splash as he dipped the cloth in. She swallowed audibly and resumed focusing on her breathing.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Cairn reached down and braced her eyes open then lowered the soaked cloth.

Before one last ear-splitting scream, the shadows of the writhing fires on the stone ceiling, the guard's stoic face, Cairn's eager expression, and the sagging cloth were the last things Aelin Galathynius saw for a long time.

**A/N: Hi, hi, hi readers! Just want to say thank you again for all your continued support. You all keep me writing! I don't want to give too much away for the story so I'll just say; don't give up hope yet! Many good things are VERY soon to come. And if any of you are feeling that Aelin being permanently blind is a dealbreaker for you, (spoiler) don't worry, she won't be. Not for the rest of the story anyway ;) Love you all! PLEASE KEEP THOSE REVIEWS COMIN'! Until next time~ V**


	8. Bonus scene

**Bonus scene: What happened before the throne room scene. (This is pre-chapter 6). **

It wasn't that often that the dark queen deigned a visit with the child worthy of her time. In actuality, it wasn't often since he was born that the child even crossed her mind. She'd left her white wolf the responsibility of being his nursemaid and guard. It was her intent that it stays that way until he is of more interest. However, that didn't mean she hadn't kept tabs on the child. On each of his birthdays she would visit and command an update from Fenrys on her heir's developmental progress—primarily hoping to hear of a sign of his magic. Sadly— but not unexpectedly— he's been still too young for it to show up thus far. Impatience bit at her as the years passed without him showing a trace, but she has ignored it by focusing her attention on the child's mother. Well, surrogate mother really.

A headache crept up her neck as she walked through the halls. The alternative subject tested her patience even further. Four years and she still hadn't gotten the information from her that she's sought. But she could play the waiting game. Even Mala's heir surely had her breaking point. As she turned the last corner, she permitted herself a smug smile. Yes, she'd wait. And in the meantime, if she couldn't have what she so sorely wanted, at least she could continue returning the favor to the Fire-Bringer.

Maeve found the bedchamber's door already open upon her approach and looked in on the inhabitants. The child sat on the plush rug in one of the setting sun's beams that fell through the arched window. A couple of clumsily made stuffed animals sat beside him. The child rambled on to them, as though reading, flipping through a thick sewn together book that spilled over his legs.

Her blood sworn turned from his task of folding clothing upon her enterance. His expression going from alert to confused. "Your Majesty," He said with a bow.

"Fenrys," She acknowledged, heading for the rocking chair in the corner, "Before you ask, I am aware that today is not his day of birth." The chair creaked feebly as she sat. Her gaze returned to the toddler who was now looking at her, mouth open, before going back to his book. "But a year is quite a long time to go without seeing one's heir, wouldn't you agree?"

It was silent for a long moment and Maeve shot her gaze over to Fenrys in expectation of an answer. Poor veiled defiance tightened his jaw but he tonelessly responded, "Yes, Your Majesty."

The valg queen ignored the lie and leaned forward in the antique chair. "Child, come here."

Rhoe glanced behind him to Fenrys, unsure, before grabbing the book and all the stuffed animals next to him. He got to his feet with some difficulty and lugged everything over. Shifting his bundle, he looked up at the queen and asked sweetly, "Who you?"

Maeve frowned at the impertinence, and returned a question, "We've met before, child. Do you not remember me?"

Rhoe shook his head. He looked back at Fenrys and hugged his things tightly to himself.

The ancient female opened her mouth to reintroduce herself but the toddler turned back first and held a stuffed cloth—that Maeve assumed was supposed to be a frog—up to her face.

He chirped, "This is Ribbit! Ribbit's—he's so brave! Hes go wayyyy—!" The child lifted the frog in an imaginary jump before landing it on her knee. "—way up!" He reached for another toy in his arms, pulling out a lopsided furry gray bear, "And this is Prince Button! He looks—we—we watch the stars! Out the window!" He pointed to said window with the bear excitedly then set it tenderly next to the frog on her lap. Next he reached for a stuffed sheep, "And this—uh-oh!"

Maeve leaned down and picked up the book that fell out of his grasp. Her brow creased as she saw it up close. She hardly knew every book in the palace's library, but there was something unusual about this one. For one, there wasn't even a spine.

The toddler ceased the introduction of his animal friends at the distraction of the book. Laying his hand on it endearingly, he said, "This my storybook!"

The female studied the lettering of the odd title. It seemed far too messy to have been done with a proper writing instrument. She looked at the child and asked, "Where did you get this?"

Rhoe beamed innocently, "Mama gave it to me!"

**A/N: Hello hello everyone! Just poppin in here with this bonus scene about the first part of the moment that led to the last chapter's throne room scene. Chapter 7 and 8 will be up very soon, I'm almost done writing them. Hope you enjoyed this little scene! Until next time~ V**


	9. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: "Throne of glass" series belongs to Sarah J. Maas, not me. The quote in bold in this chapter is a direct quote from "Empire of Storms" not my own writing. Also "Baby Mine" (not quoted merely used as inspiration) was written by Ned Washington and composed by Frank Churchill for Disney's movie "Dumbo". None of the rights belong to me.**

**A/N: The four tapping lullaby that Rhoe and Aelin exchange in greeting I set to the tune of "Baby Mine". Rhoe's tapping is to the end of the chorus line "Never to part" and Aelin's is "Baby of mine". Also...**

**TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter contains torture and a vague mentioning of rape (some beastality) and internal warring over what happened. I tried to be extremely vague though.**

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**CHAPTER 7:**

**_Eight months later_****...**

Two bright eyes watched a leather clad guard exit the cell from the shadows. A pitcher of water carelessly sloshed about in the guard's hand. The hidden figure held his breath as the towering male pulled the cell door shut and reached for the jingling keys at his hip.

The guard stopped as the sound of footsteps approached. His hand switched to the hilt of his sword before a fellow guard was revealed. He dropped his arm immediately and questioned the newcomer, "Is he coming?"

The comrade stopped in the arched hallway entry, voice gruff, "He's still upstairs." He jerked his head. "She's now summoned for both of us, come on."

The first guard set the water jug down on a nearby weathered bench and strode out.

The quiet figure stayed in his spot, listening, until the departing strong voices and boots faded entirely. He kept his eyes and ears open, like he'd been taught, and peered around the corner at the rest of the cell block. Empty. A giddy smile lit up his face. Now with the coast clear, he ran for the unlocked door.

Throwing all of his weight into the thick metal, he strained and _pushed_ until it creaked open reluctantly. It wasn't cracked more than a foot but it was enough for him to slip through. He quickly scanned the familiar room, searching. It was also empty. A disappointed sigh tumbled out. He really needed to see her today.

Regardless, Rhoe walked up to the large box-which had been recently moved to the back of the room- and lifted his finger.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap_

He waited for the response greeting, rocking hopefully on the balls of his feet.

On one of his first lone ventures down to see her, his mother had been in the box then too. He had tried to get her attention, calling, again and again without result. During his next visit he had confessed to Aelin as they sat on the floor, "I thought you were upset with me." She had pulled him close in an apologetic hug and explained that she wasn't and would never ignore him intentionally; she just hadn't been awake at that time. It was then that they came up with the idea for days she was in the box. So that Rhoe could check if she was awake or not, they came up with a two-part tap greeting from a lullaby. Then for days her voice was lost, they came up with a couple of additional conversational codes. Rhoe took to it with fervor and it's been put into much use since.

A muffled clanking sounded from the other side now. Then a calmer pace answered: _Tap-tap tap tap._

A joyous giggle left him, and he quickly tapped more of their code. Counting to himself, '1' _tap, _'2' _tap, _'3' _tap, 'Are you okay?'_.

_Tap, 'Yes'._ _Tap tap tap, 'Are you okay?'_

_'__1' Tap, 'Yes'. _Rhoe reached behind him to pull out a paper from its hiding place in his pants. Proudly, he looked his work over then looked back up at the formidable box. He lifted himself on tiptoes and pushed against the lid. Nose crinkling as he strained. A breath, then strained again. When it won't budge, he gave up with a huff, "Can you come out, please?" Studying the box closer he found the seam and tried to fit the paper into it. The paper scrunched and flopped against the solid surface to no avail. He explained, "I want to show you a picture I drew."

"I wish I could, Starlight," Aelin said sincerely, "Why don't you tell me about it?"

"Well, I drew you and me holding hands and my Ribbit's hopping, real high, mama!"

"That's sounds nice! Where's Ribbit going?"

"I don't know! Just jumping. He likes doing it and I do it with him like—" His feet thudded on the stone floor repetitively as he hopped in demonstration.

Distant footsteps join in and he stopped. Rhoe turned toward the door with a gasp, listening. The voices of the guards from earlier and a new one now drifts down the halls. He hurtled himself against the iron coffin and said urgently, "I hear someone coming!"

"Okay, shh," came Aelin's muffled reply, "Go hide where you did last time."

"Okay, mama!" The four-year-old whispered back before rushing around behind the box and dropping down, knees to his chest.

The voices got closer. Rhoe held his breath as the door groaned open. Three sets of boots stomped into the musky room.

The new male spoke up once the door was shut firmly, "Our queen would be most displeased if her _guest_ were to escape due to _your_ error." Keys were thrust into the coffin's lock. The solemn new voice, whom Rhoe placed as Connall, continued, "At least you remembered to lock this."

"I-I know I didn't leave the door open! And I could've sworn I locked it!" The first guard Rhoe had seen earlier cried, "Don't tell her, sir, I swear it won't happen again-!"

"See that it doesn't," Connall stated coolly.

Rhoe curled tighter into himself as the lid was lifted and settled onto its hinges above his head with a mighty _THUMP_.

A series of metallic clanks sounded as the box's anchors were released from Aelin's bonds. More clattering came from a few feet away. Then the guards hauled her out.

Aelin felt herself be dragged across the floor. Her head and stomach complaining in synchronization at the movements. A sharper pain lanced through her scalp abruptly, upsetting her body further. One of the guard's now grasped the top of her hair by its roots, lifting her chin and baring her throat. She felt thick cool metal wrap instantly around her neck. It clicked in her mind while it clicked closed, locking: A collar. Not of wyrdstone, thankfully, just iron.

Aelin reminded herself that it wasn't the first time they'd shackled her neck. Yet, everything inside her balked at what this particular one represented. She asked lowly, "Is Cairn trying a new approach? Give me a hint, is this a puppy, or slave, roleplay?" Her center of gravity spun wildly as she was forced down onto her stomach.

"Neither," Connall replied, "And Cairn isn't participating in this session today actually." A chain lead was attached to her collar then locked—along with the chain linking her wrists—to the floor. Confusingly enough, the manacles on her ankles were removed entirely. "He requested it, yes, many times, but our Queen wasn't too sure there'd be anything salvageable left of you if he were allowed."

A guard on her left picked up, "So Her Majesty chose us instead for this job. But don't worry…," Someone's hand stroked down the back of her thigh and she jerked. The male finished, "…we're still ordered to leave you in shreds."

Light flared on either side of her. Wolves now crouched in place of the three Fae. A chorus of deep growls begun. Aelin jumped as one barked viciously, close by. Their growls continued rumbling, circling her. She twisted her head side to side trying to keep track of them by sound and scent alone. The click of their claws stopped. She took a steadying breath… and they leapt.

Aelin was slammed to the side at the force. One set of teeth instantly sank into her shoulder while another tore into her waist wrenching an agonized cry from her. The third wolf's growl was punctuated by powerful barks above her. His front paws stepping on her back as he grabbed the top of her thin shift in his maw. Tugging incessantly, ripping it inches at a time. She barely paid attention to the pull from the front of the garment against her throat, choking her slightly, with the other two wolves continuing their attack from every angle.

A paw came slashing down for her cheek, leaving blood streaking from the long scratches. Another raked his claws down her spine, snarling. Sweat and crimson slickened her increasingly with every bite and swipe. She strained against the collar and chains with the intention to curl up but they were at their full length. Reversing the direction, she tried to drag herself forward to get enough slack. The wolf at her back noticed her attempt and released the fabric in his mouth. Aelin let out another shriek as his mouth clamped hard on her ankle and yanked her back.

He tugged again, shaking his head, digging his teeth deeper while the others scraped at her upper half. Then he ceased his growling for a moment, releasing her ankle and barely dodging a firm kick from her other leg. The black wolf's ears perked up. He turned picking up a different voice in the room and shifted back to his true form. The remaining wolves ceased their attack momentarily looking up at him in question.

Over her ragged breaths, Aelin heard it too. All of their heads turned toward the sound coming from behind the sarcophagus: The shrill, terrified crying of a young child. She could tell by how soft the cries actually were that even though he was obviously scared, he was trying so hard not to be discovered. A sob that had nothing to do with her wounds left her.

She turned her head toward his voice when Connall asked, "How—?" He cut himself off. After a few tense moments, his steps echoed as he headed for the sound. "You should be weeping with gratitude that Cairn wasn't the one to find out."

Connall walked around the box and crouched to the child's level. Fabric grated across stone as Rhoe scooted away from the male, still crying. Fearfully pulling back from the reaching arms. The cry of, "No! Stay away!" shuddered out of him before Connall managed to get ahold and the two disappeared.

Aelin allowed her head to drop. Resting it on an untouched but blood splattered patch of her bicep. Jaw clenching uncontrollably against her body's pulsing. Tears welled in her eyes as Rhoe's cries replayed in her mind. This was one of the many risks of Rhoe sneaking down alone. Hearing, seeing her get injured. Witnessing the methods her captors implemented. He'd come in once, months ago, not long after one of Cairn's whippings. She had still been suspended in her binds, unconscious, bleeding heavily onto the floor. She'd been roused then by a little shaking hand patting her leg and hysterical calls. She wasn't sure which of them was more traumatized by the instance. Since then, she'd tried to ingrain it into him not to visit if he could scent that mama was hurt. But being stuck in the cell with her when a session begins… there was no way around that. She could merely hope that Rhoe had only heard what just happened and at least not seen it.

The wolves panting breathes brushed against her skin and she heard their tails swish against the stones, sitting. Facing her on either side. Waiting.

Their claws click again though as they quickly stand back up at the reappearing flare of their leader's magic. His footsteps approached Aelin, hitting the floor with a sharp vigor. Knees smacked the ground beside her and pain lanced through her scalp once more. Head pulled back by her hair. The front of her collar also gripped, commanding her attention. Connall questioned, "How did he get down here?"

Aelin pressed her lips tightly together. Almost wanting to laugh. The keys, the blood oath, death, all of those would come before she'd say a word against her son in any circumstance.

"Fine," Connall bit out, then hissed in her ear, "But this is your only warning: Ensure it doesn't happen again. For your sake and his."

"Don't you _dare_ threaten him—!" She started fiercely; teeth bared. The grip on her was removed suddenly. She didn't have time to comprehend the shifting before she was knocked onto her back. The black wolf barking ferociously in her face.

The others took that as their cue and reengaged; places now switched to her lower half. Bite after bite, the three tore at her ravenously. Drawing cries and screams from the writhing queen. One of her struggling kicks eventually found home on a guard-wolf's sensitive nose causing him to stumble back momentarily with a whine. But rather than deter him, it seemed to motivate him. The wolf lunged for the half-torn remnant of her shift.

Through the agony of the attack, Aelin felt the back of her covering tear away completely.

What happened next, once it dawned on her, once the three Fae warriors behind her, above her, all over her, _in _her, carried out their goal. Shifting back and forth between male and beast throughout. Hands gripping her collar alternating with razor sharp teeth in a gaping mouth pinning her neck as she struggled desperately. Weeping. Shaking. Sobbing sometimes raging her protests and threats that all fell on deaf ears. What happened accomplished something the entire past five years hadn't. What happened in those moments, wasn't simply a breaking of her will but an extinguishing of her spirit.

Everything within her wanted to call out to her husband. Seek refuge and comfort in their bond. But as his name arose, shame stifled her. Smothered her so violently she found herself dragged far away from that channel. Almost as though the Valg princes were back, she begun to spin and sink under each name and criticism that threw itself at her, both familiar and new. _Coward_. _Weak_. _Unfaithful. Undeserving. Failure. Unfit to rule a kingdom. Unfit to lead. Unfit to parent. Unfit for your mate. Disgusting. Dirty. Used. Unworthy. Look at Adarlan's Assassin now. Look at the supposed heir of Terrasen now. Look at the fire-breathing queen. Can't even protect herself or her child. How was she ever supposed to protect anyone else? Useless. Disappointment. Disgrace._

Crushed by each thought pushing her further away, Aelin didn't even recognize the presence that slid easily into her mind. The sharp talons that swept through her memories until it halted at one: The fateful day on the beach over five years ago.

Vulnerable and too drained to resist, she was made to relive the events a few times over as the dark presence studied the images intently. The talons narrowed the scenes down and down until…

**_Aelin stepped forward, nudging Manon with the side of her body as she passed—forcing the witch to back away. Aelin grinned. "Want to dance, Maeve?"_**

The moment replayed and froze at precisely the second the key's weight dropped from her hand into the witch's pocket.

Aelin gasped a simple, "_No_!" but it was too late. Maeve's magic pulsed victoriously before pulling out of Aelin's mind; returning them both to the present.

Maeve's murmured orders to the guards barely reached Aelin in her fragile state, "…Place her back in the sarcophagus until I return. Minimal amount of water, no food. Increase her iron dosages. Leave the collar and put the mask and gauntlets back on as well."

"Yes, my Queen," The guards replied in unison as she left.

Metal on metal clamored and the male's footfalls neared. But before anyone could touch her again, the encroaching oblivion washed over the shattered female and mercifully pulled her away.

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**A/N: Please don't unfollow me for doing that to Aelin *laughs nervously*. Hey! On the upside, I'll be uploading the next chapter either tomorrow or the next day! *sweating* I'll just... I'm just gonna... go... *runs away*. Until next time ~V**


	10. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything you recognize or see here!**

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**CHAPTER 8:**

**_Four days later…_**

_Tap-tap-tap-tap._

Silence.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap._

Silence.

A sigh.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap._

Silence.

A whimper. "Mama? Are you awake?"

Rhoe sought out the single burning fire over his shoulder as he waited. The room pulsed around him eerily in the unusual dimness. Radiating an emptiness. A lack of life.

Another tiny whimper left him as he folded his arms around his middle. His senses battling between the assuring scent of his mother and a strong coppery tang. He backed up a few steps. Now he wished had brought Ribbit down with him. Or Fenrys… but definitely Ribbit.

He looked between the box and the door, considering. Maybe getting Ribbit now and coming back down again would be a good idea… maybe his mother would be awake then too. Hopefully. He walked back up to the box. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he leaned against it and whispered, "I'm gonna go get my Ribbit. I'll be right back, mama."

He pushed himself off and raced out the door and down the hall only to slam to a stop at the sight before him—Three strange cloaked males stood in the shadows of a stairwell. Firelight glinted off all of the blades in their hands. One of them held a long dagger against a fourth male's throat—Connall's throat.

Heart pounding against his rib cage, Rhoe quickly tucked himself behind the archway. Peeking out just enough to see.

Connall's arm hovered over the knife at his belt, held immobile by one of the strange males at his side.

Rhoe had to strain to pick up the dangerously low voice of the male with the blade against Connall's neck. The male breathed, "_Where is my wife_?"

"You know I can't be of any aid. Maeve's orders. But—," Connall's face tightened as though in pain. "—don't let me bl-block your path."

The hood covering the male's head behind Connall's lifted toward the hall ahead of them.

Rhoe wasn't sure if they'd seen him but as soon as the male looked back to Connall, he spun on his heel, rushing back into his mother's room. Spurred on by the sound of a single muffled blow.

Panicked breaths labored out of him. He needed to hide. Right now. He turned his head frantically, searching. The intruders neared and Rhoe's eyes landed on the worn cupboard against the wall. He hurried over to it and flung the door open. It was low enough that he had to crouch. Pushing some dusty books to the side as he crawled in. He pulled the light cabinet door closed just as they entered. Hoping they hadn't seen him.

The three concealed warriors shared a confused look as they stepped into the ominous cell; witnessing the green cupboard's lower panel hastily shut.

The leader of the group tilted his head toward the furnishing. The male on his left followed the command. Without direction, the one on his right stayed in the doorway, on lookout. The leader set his sights on the iron coffin in the back. Stalking soundlessly toward it, deadly blade still out.

The scent of his mate strengthened as he approached. Over five years. Over five _years _he'd longed for this moment. To scent her again, to have _found_ her. But it wasn't the time to celebrate just yet. Not when his stomach churned at the entwined overwhelming smell of her blood and other elements that coated her. She was hurt. How badly, he didn't know. He clung to the fact that he could still feel that their bond held intact, but it was weak. Meaning she was… was close to…

He set his jaw and let his fear fuel him as he sent a hard gust of his magic into the sarcophagus' lock. Ensuring it broke from the inside out entirely. In passing, he noticed a layer of additional, uneven, iron was messily welded over a portion of the lid. As though something, or someone, had destroyed the original. Maybe he'd hear the story someday… he wasn't really sure he wanted to.

Getting a firm hold on the solid covering, Rowan wrenched the cursed box open. Letting it drop back onto its hinges resolutely. His heart lurched.

The severe injuries, made visible by her nakedness, were hard to distinguish from each other. Where one ended the other had already begun. Blood and body waste pooled around, under, her. There were teeth marks, deep scratches, countless bruises of every shade, other bodily fluids, wide inflamed gashes, hallows of missing flesh, and some bones that lay at wrong angles. He could hardly comprehend how extremely gaunt she was now, so different from the full, fit, healthy figure he'd remembered. Sturdy thick restraints secured almost her entire form, head to toe. The well-crafted, horrible, mask he'd been told about also covered her face. He dismissed its presence, just for the moment, and reached an unsteady hand down. Resting his palm where her cheek lay beneath.

He sank to a knee; sob shuddering out. Her name danced across his lips silently. He'd found her. Alive.

He slid his hand down to her neck, seeking out her pulse point. Just to assure himself since he could hear and see the weak, struggling breaths coming from her. Breathing, his wife was still breathing. Heart still beating. Here. In front of him. He sniffed wetly. "Aelin," He called quietly through his tears, reaching up to stroke her tangled, blood-crusted, golden locks. He needed to see her eyes, hear her voice. Really assure him this was real and not another dream that would end. He called a bit louder when she didn't stir, "Aelin."

He wasn't sure if it was her condition alone or maybe some substance that kept her from rising to consciousness. Either way, Rowan had to accept that he would have to wait to fully reunite with his mate. The prince stood back over the box and drew a thin knife from his sleeve. Sheathing his dagger, he got to work on the shackles.

A startled yelp rang from the cupboard at the front of the room as Gavriel drew it open. The sword in the Lion's hand slipped slightly in his shock.

The clattering and quiet curses coming from Rowan's frustrated efforts continued while Gavriel gaped and fumbled for a moment to make his voice work. "Rowan," He managed to call eventually.

Concentrating his magic on his queen's unrelenting binds, he growled, "What?"

Gavriel said, unable to take his eyes off the child, "You need to see this."

From his spot at the door, Lorcan looked past the Lion to the little figure in the cupboard. He took in a sharp breath and exclaimed, "Impossible."

Rowan succeeded in breaking the anchor's holds but dropped the indestructible irons from his hands. He stood glaring at them, thinking. They had to come undone. For every lock there was a key. And very few locks could hold up to picking, let alone magic. He knew there had to be something.

Stepping away, he continued to work the puzzle over in his mind. He walked over to his comrade, aggravated at the interruption, "What's so urgent—?" Since Rowan had begun to use his magic in battle, he had stolen the air from the lungs of numerous people. But for the first time it was though his magic turned on himself and thoroughly ripped his own breath away.

Because a young male, no more than five, stared back at him with two little blue eyes ringed with gold. They were enlarged by his fear, and peered through a few strands of his silky silver hair. Set between those unique eyes was a smaller version of the nose Rowan caught a glimpse of every time he looked in a mirror. Not trusting his eyes, he inhaled the child's scent and the confirmation sent him staggering back a few steps. This couldn't be true. He couldn't possibly be—

Drawing his knees tighter to his chest, the child looked between the pair of strangers. He asked meekly, "Who are you?"

Gavriel glanced to Rowan. When the silence began to drag on too long, he answered for him, "We're friends. I'm Gavriel, that's Lorcan over there, and this is Rowan." Gavriel's smile was bittersweet as he nodded to his speechless friend. "He's your—."

Recognition lit up his sweet face at Rowan's name, emboldening him to scoot out of his hiding spot. He gushed, "I know you! Mama told me lots about you! You're from my storybook!"

Rowan's throat bobbed and he struggled to blink away the moisture gathered in his eyes. He couldn't believe this was real. A large part of him _hated _himself because it was. This was real, which meant… when they took her, Aelin had been… oh gods.

He slowly lowered himself down to the child's height, resting back on his heels. Throat too tight to properly swallow. The child looked on expectantly for some response. Gazing at him like some kind of hero. Right then he felt more like the villain. What he had missed… what he had left her— left _both_ of them— to go through…

What was he even supposed to say? He didn't even know anything about him, they were perfect strangers… Clearing his throat he asked softly, "What's your name?"

"Rhoe." He answered a bit bashfully, fidgeting with the bottom of his bright green tunic.

Rhoe. Her father's name. Rowan felt the corners of his mouth twitch; it fit him well. Lifting his hand to smooth the hair out of Rhoe's eyes, Rowan breathed, "Rhoe…" He couldn't take him in fast enough. He was the best blend of he and Aelin, with some of his own individual traits mixed in. He was wonderful. Although he knew his rough calculations were correct, still he inquired, "How old are you?"

The hair flopped out from under Rowan's touch as Rhoe looked down to his fingers. He counted them out in a loud whisper to himself then answered holding up four digits, "I'm this many!" He tilted his head in contemplation and asked curiously, "How old are you?"

Gavriel guffawed and said, "He's a lot many."

Lorcan's voice carried over to their group, "You're one to talk."

Their banter continued but Rowan held still as Rhoe came closer. He stood between the older prince's knees, reaching up to lightly trace the scrolling tattoo down his face and neck in fascination. "You're my papa?"

Rowan nodded stiffly, speechless in amazement.

Rhoe said puzzled, "But… you're not a buzzard…?"

A nervous laugh puffed out of the newfound father, "Not always."

Hesitantly, _carefully,_ Rowan wrapped the child in a gentle embrace. He glanced up at Gavriel and saw his awe and pain reflected back in his gaze before allowing his eyes to flutter shut. Rhoe. His son.

Rowan pulled back after too-short a moment. A touch of uncertainty lingered on his child's otherwise glowing face. His brilliant eyes stared up at him. Aelin's eyes.

Rowan shook himself slightly out of his stupor, and looked back at the opened iron box. It's sole occupant still waiting inside. He turned back as Rhoe asked him, looking where he had previously, "Is mama still sleeping?"

"Yes," Rowan got to his feet and strode back over to her, "and she can keep sleeping, but on the way." He unfastened his cloak from around his shoulders and reached down to wrap her in it.

Rhoe came up beside him, little hands trying to pull himself up by the box's edge to see. Questions began flying at him so fast he could barely keep up, "Why?"

"Because we're leaving."

"You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Where're you going?"

Rowan slid his arms under Aelin, mindful of her injuries, "Home."

"Who's home?"

"Your mama's home." Rowan lifted her out, shifting his arm up to settle her neck in the crook of his elbow as her head lolled. Wincing at the sturdy clanking of the chains still binding her form. Once out of here, he vowed to himself. As soon as it was safe to stop, he'd remove the infernal things for good.

"When are you going?"

"Right now."

Rhoe stood wide-eyed and begun to tremble as he looked between his parents, "Are you leaving me?"

Rowan stopped short in surprise at the question, peering down over the queen in his arms.

Fear of abandonment written over every inch of the young one. But also, an almost acceptance.

His heart cracked further. Oh, he would make everyone in this castle suffer for putting his wife and child through all they'd endured. Rowan forced his tone to remain soothing despite the strength behind his response, promising, "Never."

"Come on, little one." Gavriel said, bending over and scooping Rhoe up without further preamble. They followed Lorcan and Rowan out of the cell, cautiously exiting through the halls the same way they entered. Gavriel covered Rhoe's eyes when they came upon the few guards they'd had to fell earlier.

Silence reigned among their group until a distressed call broke out, "Wait!"

The warriors flinched, shushing the child as they listened for any signs someone had been alerted to their presence. Rowan looked back at Rhoe, frowning, "What is it?"

Rhoe squirmed in Gavriel's hold to get down saying, "I have to get Ribbit. We can't leave him!"

"Who's Ribbit?" Rowan asked.

"My frog! He's my friend! Put me down please," Rhoe said still squirming.

But to Rhoe's dismay, the Lion did no such thing and instead they all began walking again.

His father said over his shoulder, "We'll come back for him later."

Their pace then hurried as the four-year-old's bottom lip wavered and the tears began. At the deep breath that was sucked down, Gavriel's expression slackened in dread. He quickly, but gently, pressed the child's face into his shoulder. All of them bracing before the first muffled wail left Rhoe pitifully.

By the time they reached the glen where Elide waited for them, Rhoe had cried himself dry—and though still noticeably sad about his frog—was looking around curiously at the nature surrounding them.

Elide rushed up to meet them as they entered but stopped. Hands darting to cover her mouth. Eyes alight with grief as she beheld her queen's limp body in Rowan's arms concealed by the cloak. The dark-haired Lady searched all of their faces, forcing herself to ask, "Is she—?"

To her relief, Rowan shook his head. Answering swiftly, "No. She's just unconscious. But she's—" He looked over his shoulder to the adorable child Elide now noticed in Gavriel's arms, who was listening closely. "We need to leave. Immediately."

Elide nodded, collecting herself with a limping step backwards, "Right. Are the mountains still our best bet?"

Lorcan and Gavriel spoke up discussing the best logistical course. Rowan tuned them out though as a hand of twigs formed around a rock caught his attention over Elide's shoulder. It beckoned with a wave as if calling. The little folk.

Rowan interrupted the mounting argument, gesturing with a nod of his head, "I think they may have a better idea."

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**A/N: Ahhhh, rescueddddd. Hope everyone's happy :) I'm exhausted. Chapter nine will be up... when it's up haha. Just a friendly reminder that none of these chapters were part of my original plan. This is all just the back story. The main focus for me in this story will be from about chapter 12 on. But we're getting close! Thank you every one for your continued support and comments. You're the greatest. Until next time ~V**


	11. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: "Throne of Glass" series, settings, characters, lines, etc. are the talented Sarah J. Maas'.**

**A/N: This is the longest chapter I've ever written in my life. Please enjoy!**

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**Chapter 9:**

Dripping candles held in the palms of well-polished golden candelabras lined the grand hallways in the palace of Wendlyn. The flames capping them cast an inviting glow against the ivory walls. Sheer iris drapes hung loosely over every window. The sleep-still space gave off a peacefulness the Fae prince rushing through them was unable to feel. A millionth glance down at the silent bundle cradled in his arms spoke of the reason.

Rowan followed their guide—Wendlyn's Captain of the Royal Guard— closer perhaps than comfortable, judging from the side-eye glances and an increase of speed from the captain. The olive-skinned man led their group as swiftly as possible to a guest room that had been prepared for their arrival.

The Little Folk had been trustworthy in leading them out of Maeve's lands earlier that day. They travelled undetected via a cavernous passageway under the mountains. The first opening of the cave had been set up by their hosts with twinkling lights and handmade moss beds atop natural stone alcoves. Pillows and three floral crowns of descending sizes for the royals were crafted as well. Yet, despite the hospitality, Rowan told the creatures they couldn't delay; They needed to reach Wendlyn as quickly as possible. The little folk understood well enough and scurried off to retrieve their next mode of transportation.

As they waited, Gavriel set the still mourning Rhoe down to explore. The four-year-old retrieved the crowns and donned the smallest one with bright green leaves and tiny budding berries.

Rowan used the time to carefully set his mate down and wrestle with the stubborn irons again—pausing only to accept his twig and blue-jay's feather woven circlet from an insistent Rhoe. When Lorcan called attention to a nearing boat, he hadn't made any head way.

His comrade verified the boat wasn't manned and began to load the others onto the vessel.

In a last-ditch effort Rowan laid the chains connecting his wife's hands and feet onto a jutting rock and swung his broadsword down onto the links with all his might. They broke in half with a satisfying snap.

Rowan's relief was marginal while he wrapped Aelin back in his cloak and carried her to the boat. Now at least when she awoke, she would be able to move unhindered. But he still needed to figure out a way to remove the iron encasing her. He didn't want Aelin to still be trapped in the metal's clutches when she awoke. If she awoke…

They'd moved down the cave's waterway in a timely manner and landed on Wendlyn's western shore just after midnight without event; save for Rhoe's at first timid then bubbling amazement at the glowing creatures that illuminated the cave's dark tunnels.

Upon entering the war-emptied kingdom, Rowan led them to an inn to procure a messenger hawk. The quaking young clerk running the front desk inside had tripped over himself to fetch the animal— not once turning his back on the large warriors.

Once the boy returned, Rowan had Lorcan write a brief message to the king. It read:

_Your Excellency King Glaston Ashrver,_

_We have returned from our search successful. _

_Refuge, your best healer's attention, and utmost discrepancy are our requests. _

_On behalf of Her Majesty, Queen Aelin Ashyrver Whitethorn Galathynius, _

_Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius and company_

They exited the cozy inn trusting the teen would get the message off without delay.

Rowan stood in the cool misty air and tucked his mate closer. The last thing she needed was to get a chill. Following the thought, he glanced over to where his son was fast asleep against Gavriel's shoulder; content to see his companion's own cloak wrapped snugly around the two.

Lorcan stood beside him, adjusting his own cloak before asking, "What if the king won't grant us aid? Do we continue onto Terrasen tonight?"

Rowan looked toward the direction of the Ashyver's-now his uncle's- palace then inward to the fraying mating bond. "She can't wait for Terrasen."

Elide's glare cut through the mist to Lorcan. "Galan answered Aelin's call for aid. Why should his father refuse us now when his men are fighting in our land? We're allies."

Gavriel supplied in a whisper, "Glaston is not his son."

Despite the late hour, Rowan's eyes were honed and bright when he said, "He won't turn us away…" His boots were soundless down the stairs onto the damp brick road. "I won't allow it."

Except for a few stray guards, a stumbling drunkard, and a yowling tabby cat, the streets were entirely deserted in every town they passed through. The lack of traffic was a godsend, speeding their journey along. The closest square's clock just began to bong three o' clock when they entered the heart of Varese.

The Captain of the Guard- A clean shaven man underneath a weather worn helmet— waited for them at the palace's gates. With a respectful bow the guard said, "Welcome to Wendlyn, Your Highness. His Majesty received your message well."

The clock finished tolling in the distance and the captain nodded toward a side entrance. "Please, come with me."

It'd now been almost thirteen hours since the rescue and Aelin hadn't shown any sign of stirring. She remained far from reality's reach.

Rowan continued to glance down at his wife's iron covered face as they walked. His stomach twisting in tighter and tighter coils. Why wasn't she waking up? What had they done to her? And why leave her in this state? He knew from when he served Maeve that she kept healers in constant rotation when she had prisoners interrogated. She wasn't one to let a prisoner come close to the escape of death. Not until they lost their usefulness anyway. Had Maeve decided Aelin was of more use to her dead? How long had she been laying there hurt, dying, in that cell? Why hadn't he found her sooner? He should have, he _should_ have.

The Captain jarred him from his thoughts after they turned another corner in the seemingly unending halls. He spoke in a soft rumble, "His Majesty has shared word of your arrival and situation with myself and the handful of healers he selected alone." He peered down out of the corner of his eye at the unresponsive queen, "We understand your need for discretion."

They didn't understand. But their secrecy and hospitality were a relief. Rowan said, "You have my gratitude for it, Captain."

"No need, Your Highness. You are the King's family, and dire circumstances or not, you shall be treated as such." The captain began to slow his pace and announced, "Here we are."

The guest room's golden detailed door was closed like all the others they'd passed. However, when the captain rapped on the wood, this one was pulled open to reveal an elegant, chandelier-lit, room with several white aproned healers bustling within.

"Do you want to get down?" Gavriel murmured from behind Rowan. Little boots lightly hit the floor and fingers soon buried themselves in the side of Rowan's pants leg.

The captain stood to the side and said something to the others that didn't reach Rowan as he entered the room.

The canopy topped plush bed had already been covered with sterile linens. Bowls of water and herbal mixtures, stacks of clean white bandages and cloths, and additional folded sheets covered the surfaces of the nightstands and side tables scattered about.

Rowan lowered Aelin onto the mattress as if she were made of the finest glass. The chains within the cloak clinking—unwilling to let him forget their presence. Her head leaned to the side limply, chest just barely rising.

Several sets of hands appeared in his line of sight, spreading open the cloak. Rowan looked up to the healers while they conversed urgently. Cloths and bowls leaping from hand to hand around him. Some closed their eyes, concentrating, when they laid their hands on Aelin. Skin glowing as they scanned and then gave of their magic. A few met his gaze first; eyes flat. Grim.

Rowan tried to ease the tension in his neck, rubbing uselessly. In the flickering candle light, it almost looked as though her eyelids were fluttering. Leaning heavily against the bed, he stroked his thumb lightly over the soft skin of her closed lids. "I need you to wake up, Fireheart. Please." He breathed. "Will you open your eyes for me?"

Small struggling breaths were her only response.

His hand slid over to cradle her head, tracing the delicate shell of her—currently rounded—ear. It felt wrong. It felt incomplete. He could touch her. She was here, actually here now. He'd found her. But she was still so far away and, it seemed, drifting further. This was wrong. She had to wake up. She _had _to. Not only for his sake, but for their son fidgeting beside him.

Following the healers every move and word, Rowan vaguely noted Gavriel coming beside him. Quietly, the lion took Rhoe's free hand and said, "We don't need to be in here right now. Let's get some food."

There was a short tug on Rowan's pant leg as Rhoe resisted Gavriel's leading. Rhoe whined, "No, I don't want to."

Gavriel sighed and bent to pick him up but Rhoe threw himself, limbs and all, around his father's leg resolutely. His voice rose in a panicked cry, "No! I'm staying with mama!"

Rowan startled and twisted to reach down to Rhoe's trembling form. Brushing his fingers through his hair. He saw the apology written in Gavriel's furrowed brow and surrendering palms as he backed off. Rowan shook his head dismissively at the apology. "He can stay."

Gavriel exited into the hall, saying to no one in particular, "I'llgo get some food alone then."

A sheet _whooshed _as it was tossed by a healer over Aelin, covering from the shoulders down.

"Careful, Rhoe. Mama's still hurt."

"I know." Rhoe pushed away his father's hands and continued hoisting himself onto the bed. His dirt crusted shoes leaving black streaks on the mattress' edge. Knees sinking into the cloud-like mattress with every gained inch around his mother's head to her other side.

"Your Highness, if it pleases you…?" The head healer caught Rowan's attention, directing to a rigid, armless chair.

Rowan blinked owlishly for a moment trying to remember when someone placed the furnishing behind him. How had he missed that? He slid the chair closer, dropping into it and adjusting the poking hilt of his dagger. "Thank you."

Rhoe laid snuggled against his mother's arm and scrubbed at his face. Placing a hand lightly on the part of the sheet covering his mother's arm. Running his fingertips over the soft woven threads. His bleary blue-gold eyes observed the people moving about the room and under the cover. He propped himself up on his elbow, trying to see what they were all looking at. "What are you doing?"

A woman with wispy grey hair swaying about her forehead said kindly, "We're healing your mother."

"With magic?"

A twitch of a fawning grin, "Yes, prince."

Rhoe lifted his hand close to his face, going almost cross eyed. He singled out his index finger and extended it in the air toward the group. "I got this when I was coloring."

The healer lifted her head to find a rose-red paper cut spanning from the tip of his finger to the nearest knuckle.

"The paper was very mean." Rhoe's bottom lip jutted out in a pout. "I was coloring with Ribbit and Prince Button and Wooly. We were making a tree, like the one out my window but better."

"You sound like quite the artist. My son loved to draw horses when he was your age." The healer wiped her hands off with a moist cloth before extending a hand toward the child, "Is it okay if I look at your boo-boo?"

Rhoe tucked his knees under as he sat up, holding out his wounded digit; one hand steadfastly keeping contact with his mother.

The healer gently took his hand and examined the cut closer. It was already on its way healing naturally, but she'd speed it along. "Mmm, I can tell that _was_ a mean paper." She placed her thumb over the cut and let a tendril of her magic out then released his hand. "There, how does that feel now?"

Rhoe drew his hand back and squinted at his finger, turning and flexing it all around. "It feels disappeared."

A ghost of a smile passed over Rowan's face and the healer laughed. "Well it went away! Do you have any other boo-boos?"

Rhoe shook his head, but let the healer check him over briefly. He said, eyes alight with hope, "Will mama's boo-boos go away soon too?"

Rowan's smile vanished.

The healer glanced at Rowan then said, "As soon as possible."

Rhoe accepted the answer with a grin and flopped back into his spot at Aelin's side. Cheek now pressed against her shoulder. He looked at his healed finger again then tilted his face up toward hers and asked the room, "When will mama wake up?"

"When she's ready." The healer directed her attention back to aiding her supervisor as he went to step around to the side of the bed, muttering to her. She nodded in understanding and set to her new task back under the sheet.

Rhoe stared up at his mother and laid his hand on the mask. "Mama…" He whispered. He traced the suns and swirls in the metal. "Are you ready now?"

Rhoe pulled his hand back to her arm when the head healer came over. The man's furry and age spotted hands probed tenderly at the base of her neck. Up the sides—avoiding the horrid collar. Under, behind, and beside her head—avoiding the equally horrid mask.

Rowan watched the man's trained-unreadable expression and examining closely. The man spent the same amount of time in each place until he reached the top of Aelin's head. His hands lingered three seconds longer there. The unforgiving chair groaned as Rowan leaned forward.

The healer's wrinkled brow creased deeply; eyes closed in concentration. He slid his touch down to either side of Aelin's temples.

The healer's magic glowed a bit brighter then faded.

Rowan shifted nervously. "What is it—?"

The healer released his grip on Aelin and waved to one of his apprentices, "Kuart. Fetch some fennel herbs, enough for three cups, boil them and make it into a poultice for me, please. See if we still have some of the passion flower grounds too."

"Yes sir." Came the apprentices reply, already on his way out.

"Prince." The healer beckoned, walking away.

Rowan's heart was in his throat, the need to know his mate's condition had been killing him. But now he feared maybe knowing would be worse.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Rowan asked in a clipped manner once he'd joined the healer in the back corner of the bedroom.

"Let me first assure you, Your Highness," The healer said, "Your wife should wake up quite soon."

Rowan felt inward to where their bond was for confirmation. And sure enough, it was steadily strengthening now. Growing back stand by strand.

Rowan's breath rushed out, tears stinging his tired eyes. He placed a hand on the smooth wooden wall, not trusting his knees to hold him at the moment. They'd gotten here in time. "Thank you."

The healer humbly ducked his head, the soft candlelight shimmering off his bald scalp. He said, "Don't thank me, your wife's the one who held on."

Rowan tucked the comment away.

The healer continued, "She will live and that's the most important part. But I do have some bad news…" He rubbed his hand over the bit of scruff on his cheek, staring at the wall while he gathered his thoughts. "It's her eyes. By the extent of damage, I would assume a chemical burn was the cause. There appears to be substantial pressure in the optic nerves of both eyes resulting in what is known as _glaucoma_. Her corneas show signs of an entire reconstruction yet with full cataracts over them now—like someone began to heal her eyes only to stop at forming them back then glossed them over."

Rowan's stomach churned violently. The healer's words echoing in his mind: _Damage. Chemical burn. Substantial pressure. Full cataracts._ He sought out his mate across the room, surrounded by their child and the healers on the bed, still oblivious to the world. He struggled to voice it, "You're saying she's…"

The healer nodded, corners of his mouth downturned, confirming the unspoken conclusion, "She's blind."

Blind. The word circled the prince. Wrapping tighter and tighter around his neck as comfortingly snug as a noose. "Blind." The word tasted like mud in his mouth. "No. It can be restored though. You—" Determination shoved its way through his haze. "It's not permanent. You can reverse it?"

"It is possible, but there's no guarantee of a full return of her sight. Any improvement will take months—at best—of sessions with an experienced healer." The man said, "The eyes and their nerves aren't like a flesh wound. They're incredibly delicate, especially in their intricate connection to the brain."

Rowan combed his fingers through his hair, cursing under his breath.

The healer threw out a hand, continuing, "I'm not saying it's permanent." He continued when Rowan looked at him again, "As I said, Your Highness, it is possible she'll regain some sight. I'm only preparing you for her condition when she wakes and for the _immediate_ future—however temporary it may be."

"I understand." Rowan took a deep breath. He reminded himself that she was going to wake up. Aelin would live. Her eyes, those beautiful windows to her soul he loved to peer through… having them shuttered from the world would not stop her from living. She would live—just with a new challenge. "What can I do to help her?"

"Once she's well enough to be up and about, just—if you would—be her eyes." He went on at Rowan's prompting look, "Getting around may be difficult for her—especially in new environments, eating a meal, letting her know who's in the room. Undoubtedly, there will be many things that come up. Let her tell you what she needs, don't take her control away. Let her be the one to decide her limits." He tucked his hands into his apron's base pockets. "And even those will change and become less as she gets used to depending on her other senses. I don't know how long it's been since she lost her vision so I'm unaware of how adjusted she may already be to compensating."

Soaking in the slew of information, he pressed, "And currently? When she wakes…?"

"Just be with her." The healer said simply.

The conversation lulled and Rowan pushed off from the wall to head back to his family's side.

"Also, your highness…" The healer lifted a finger to his mouth, looking down at the diamond patterned rug, "There were physical signs that she was recently… taken advantage of." His tone was somber, unable to meet the prince's gaze. "Sexually, I mean."

Ice crackled as it raged through to surround Rowan's fists. "I know." He bit out through his teeth, flashes of the localized bruises and mingling scents rushing through his memory, "I saw."

The healer's eyes widened at the flare up of the prince's magic. Backing away a step, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry."

Rowan reclaimed his vigil beside the bed, watching Rhoe innocently distract the healers while they worked.

He mulled over everything the Head healer had said about Aelin. His mate's loss of vision, her assault, how the man suspected she'd been blinded. What it meant for the war. What it meant for her… for them.

An hour before the sky began to turn to it's pre-dawn gray, Aelin's breathing changed.

Her limbs slightly stirred beneath the sheet. The motion making the irons still on her re-announce their presence.

Rowan sprang to his feet, chair wobbling in his wake.

Rhoe popped up too, delightedly greeting first, "Mama!"

Rowan cupped her shoulders, heart frantically beating away. He'd been waiting so long—too long—to hear her voice.

A sharp intake of breath left her and she flinched away from the heavy hands, stiffening. Her eyes snapped open.

Rowan's stomach plummeted. Oh gods, her _eyes._ The healer's talk hadn't prepared him enough for this.

"Aelin, you're okay. It's just me."

She stilled but remained tense, chest heaving now. Unseeing eyes darting about in vain.

"Just me and Rhoe. You're safe now. You're safe." Rowan moved to stroke the side of her neck then pulled back as she jerked away again.

"I'm here, mama!" Rhoe affirmed, "You slept so long! I've been waiting and waiting and waiting!" The bed bounced with every repetitive word.

Her hair brushed against the linens as she turned, seeking out his voice. Her arm haltingly lifting from under the sheet in silent offer of a hug that Rhoe fell into immediately.

Her eyes. Tears choked off Rowan's words while he took them in. Gone were the dazzling oceans he loved to get lost in. The golden core that framed the fire he always saw burning there, magic or passion—gone. Now taken over by a large, unnatural, bluish-white, splotch on each. A cloudy glaze coating it all. Like a veil, hiding her from the world.

"Where—?" Aelin's rasp was cut off by a harsh cough.

Rowan's head swiveled to search for a water pitcher. A glass was placed in his hand instantly by a healer. He sniffed it discreetly, verifying the safety of its contents.

"Aelin," He stroked her frazzled hair, fighting his anger at her former captors when she flinched again. "Will you allow me to lift your head? I have a glass of water for you."

Seconds ticked by before the chains holding her mask clanked with her reluctant nod.

After she finished drinking, Rowan gently let her head back down and set the cylinder glass by his feet.

Aelin cleared her throat and tried again. Tone devoid of any emotion, "Where are we this time?"

Rowan's brows cinched, "What do you mean?"

The gauntlets encasing her hands clicked as she fisted them, testing. She whispered tiredly, "I don't want to do this right now."

Rowan shot a glance at the quiet healers gathered at the foot of the bed. All of their faces pulled in the same confused concern. "Don't want to do what?"

"You already got what you wanted, Maeve." Aelin said, "Just leave me alone."

Understanding filled Rowan, alongside heartbreak; She thought this was an illusion. "This isn't an illusion, Fireheart. We're in Varese, in your uncle's palace." Rowan explained, "Gavriel, Lorcan, Elide and I got you and Rhoe out yesterday."

"Varese," Aelin snorted, lifting her hand to stroke through Rhoe's hair, "That's a new one."

Rhoe sat up, his mother's hand sliding down to his back. "And mama, I don't have Ribbit! Papa wouldn't let me get him."

A cough covered laugh broke from a healer while Rowan winced.

The young queen's caressing faltered. "Oh Starlight."

"And Wooly and Prince Button and Fenrys too!"

Aelin was silent for a moment before she swallowed and murmured faintly, "You've really out done yourself this time, Maeve."

Rowan knelt down and sent a faint breeze over his wife, reaching out thorough their bond, '_Did she ever fake this?_'

Aelin jolted, and turned her head toward him. Shock saturating her response, '_No.'_ She edged a shaking hand out.

_'__This is real, Aelin.' _Rowan took her hand in his ever so gently, reading the belief sprouting in her. '_This is real. You're safe."_

Moisture pooled in her eyes, her trembling spreading up to her parted lips.

Rowan affirmed his mate, his queen, '_You're free.'_

A loud sob tore out of Aelin.

Deep, relief-filled, heaving, cries shook her to her core. They'd really come for her.

Rhoe gasped. "Don't cry, mama!" He turned her face back to him. "We can get my friends when you're all better!"

A trembling smile made its way through Aelin's tears. She stroked his hair once more before hugging him back down to her chest.

Both of them: Together for good. Finally safe, finally _free._

A part of her still couldn't believe it was true. A greater part of her told her doubts to shut it.

Rowan drew her hand up, brushing a kiss against her new skin. Just above where the gauntlet ended.

Still crying, she flinched at the unexpected sensation.

Rowan pulled back quickly, assuring her again out loud, "It's just me."

The overhead candles glinted off the ornate mask when she turned back to him. Links jingling along. Aelin squeezed her husband's hand. She figured he already knew, but she needed to tell him herself. She explained through her crying, "I can't see." More tears humidified the interior of the mask. "They—Cairn—"

Rowan lifted their joined hands over his bleeding heart. "I know—"

"He blinded me months—months ago."

"The healers and I are going to do everything we can to bring your vision back." Rowan promised, tears of his own now spilling over. "The Healer on High from the Torre and her apprentices are also in Orynth. I'll get them to help too when we get there."

Aelin closed her eyes at the mention of her kingdom's capital. She mouthed the word, _home_. The doubt reared its ugly head again and so she asked through their bond, '_This is truly real?'_

Rowan looked to where their precious son lay contently held to herside then to the curtain clad window beyond where the dawning sun was glimmering through. He replied, '_This is real. You're here and I'm here. I've got you. To whatever end, Fireheart."_

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**A/N: Ta-daaaa! Let the "yay-ing" and "Aww-ing" commence! Tell me your favorite (or least favorite) part in the reviews! Chapter ten will be up as soon as possible. Until next time ~V**


	12. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: All rights of the "Throne of Glass" series belongs to Sarah J Maas.**

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**Chapter 10:**

"Rowan."

The small metal-clad fingers laced through his, tightened gently with the call pulling Rowan from his light dozing.

With travelling from where they'd been south of Mistward to the palace and planning and executing the rescue, he hadn't slept for over thirty hours now.

And he hadn't slept _well _for years.

Five years, three months, ten days and twenty hours to be exact.

From his seat now leaned back against the papered wall, he hummed his response.

"Tell me again." Aelin muttered, muscles refusing to relax despite the lack of danger in the quiet guest room. "Tell me this isn't fake. Not just another rutting illusion or dream."

Rowan turned to see his wife worrying her bottom lip and clutching their son—who was quietly doodling stick figures on a pad of paper—so tightly to her side as though he would vanish at any second.

He stifled a yawn and reassured her, "This is real."

Aelin slid her hand from his to her neck; grasping the menacing collar. The gauntlet screeched slightly as she rubbed at the chaffing band. She released it to move up to the mask, the broken chain dangling from the cuff on her wrist clanked softly, dragging across her chest. She huffed out a shaky breath through her chapped lips when her tugs on the masks chains resulted in nothing.

Rowan understood before she questioned silently, '_Then why am I still in irons?'_

'_I've tried everything, but don't know how to get them off.' _He lifted his head off the wall and glared at the stubborn metals. '_They won't break, they can't be picked—'_

_'You need blood,' _

His chairs front legs lowered back onto the floor with a solid thud. _'Blood? Why would that—'_ He stopped himself and breathed into the room's peaceful space, "Wyrdmarks."

Rowan unsheathed the silver Doranelle crafted-dagger at his waist and looked to his wife laying tiredly beneath a baby-soft blue quilt. "I don't know the symbol."

"I do." Aelin brushed her thumb soothingly over Rhoe's shoulder. "But I won't be able to know if I'm drawing it accurately."

"Just tell me how it's supposed to be. I can guide you." Rowan went to cut his palm but Aelin lifted her hand.

"I want them off." A short laugh burst from her that bordered on hysteria. "_Now_. But unless you want to risk sending me through a portal, you should probably practice without blood first."

The dagger dropped back into its sheath.

He glanced at the stubby pencil and papers in Rhoe's hands.

"What if I sketched it on paper? Could you describe the shape in degrees?"

For the next hour, Rowan sketched the marks to Aelin's directions, tracing her finger over them to check his work.

Over.

And over.

And over.

And over again until she deemed it accurate.

"That's perfect," Aelin said, pulling her hand back from the page. "As far as I can tell at least."

Rowan frowned. "That's not exactly comforting."

"Well it's the best I can offer."

Rowan simply stared at his wife.

The morning glow had settled into steady daylight and now seemed to only draw greater attention to the menacing restraints. They were a stark contrast to the surrounding elegant room and humming child at her side.

They needed to come off now; should've never been on in the first place.

He studied her tightly pressed pale lips, her shallow breaths. The quiet groaning of the gauntlets as she flexed her fingers.

She needed them off. Now.

He wondered if it was only for their hyper-aware son's sake that she wasn't more upset about their presence.

Over five years she'd been trapped within them. Her fire as well as her body contained, muzzled by the iron.

Unfortunately, having them off wouldn't relive the pressure of her magic just yet.

The healers told them earlier that the high amount of iron currently in her blood stream—though they had been able to deplete some of it— would still suppress her magic for some time.

Rowan had had his magic suppressed for short periods at a time in his life but he couldn't imagine what it would be like long-term.

How she hadn't gone insane from it, was a miraculous mystery.

He wouldn't make her wait any longer.

Rowan drew his dagger once more and turned in his chair, putting his back to Rhoe. He quickly cut the tip of his finger.

"Where do you want me to start?"

Aelin turned her head toward the window, baring the mask's complex lock.

The chair creaked in protest as it was scooted forward and Rowan held the drawing up for reference as he began to trace. "Don't go anywhere."

A nervous exhale. "Come with me if I do?"

Rowan's lips quirked as he drew. "Only if it's a nice realm."

"If it's a sunny, woodland, peaceful one but tattooing's banned?"

"You're on your own, princess."

Aelin snorted then gasped in unison with Rowan when the lock sprung open and the mask fell sideways onto her white satin pillow.

The humming filling the air dropped off and Rhoe sat up.

"Yay!" Rhoe cupped his mother's cheek, wide toothy grin in place. "Your soft-face is back!"

It was hard for the two royals to choose then which sound that filled the air was sweeter: Their som's squealing laughter from the kissing onslaught of his mother, or the final clanking of the restraints as Rowan continued to unlock them.

One by one.

Days passed quickly from that moment—but not quickly enough for Aelin.

Over the course of three weeks she had to learn how to navigate life again from scratch.

This resulted in many table-height bruises, a thousand belated cries of "Careful, mama! There's a chair there!", being unsure if any of her outfits even matched, and mystery meals.

The times Rhoe had whispered to Rowan, a crinkle in his nose, "Eww, what's that?" never failed to whisk away her appetite.

Of course, Rowan took the lead in helping with everything: Guiding her around furnishings and the unfamiliar rooms and halls. Telling her the time of day. Telling her what was on her plate. Calming her with his soothing voice about who was walking by or around her. Offering to help her dress. Reading to her. Always holding her hand or offering his arm. Bringing everything to her that she needed. Brushing her hair for her. Offering to play with Rhoe when he asked Aelin to play something she couldn't— although he was always sweetly rebuffed with a shy, "Um, no thank you, papa".

He was always there.

And Elide—whom had clung to her for a good hour, crying, upon their reunion— had offered to help Aelin bathe as well as do her hair and babysit Rhoe should she and Rowan want some time alone. All of which had been declined, although Aelin had thanked her every time she'd offered… and offered… and offered.

Elide had also assured Aelin that her clothes were from her room in Mistward, so at least Aelin didn't have to worry about the chooser's taste in style—she knew they were impeccable.

Lorcan and Gavriel—whom Aelin had given the blood oath to after a lengthy tense discussion about where their allegiances (particularly Lorcan's) were in this war— were also doing their part to help by guarding, keeping correspondence with Orynth and constantly updating her on the war's ever-changing status. They were the only ones who—aside from Rhoe—weren't annoying her.

It wasn't that Aelin didn't appreciate Rowan's desire to help or Elide's offers.

But they were starting to suffocate her.

Then there was the matter of training.

They started out slowly; just some target practice and simple exercises to regain her lost muscle mass. When she ended their pre-walked laps around the mats soaked through with sweat and then shaking too much to complete five pushups on their first day, Aelin was thankful Rowan was taking it easy on her. However, she found herself snapping at almost everyone who breathed in her direction when after two weeks went by and He _kept_ their pace slow and easy.

The only one who benefitted from this frustrating pace was Rhoe. Who was also the only person being clingier than Rowan. Which with the painful squeezing in Aelin's chest that occurred when she couldn't hear his voice, she didn't exactly mind. In fact, she reveled in the new closeness they were now able to share.

Uninterrupted.

But being her talkative shadow, he didn't miss _anything_.

So, when she and Rowan—_finally_—began to add mild sparring to their routine, Rhoe went from being her cheerleader from the wall benches to completely silent.

The first time that Aelin fell, having had her legs swept out from under her, Rhoe made his distress known.

"Mama!" He'd cried, voice breaking. He jumped from his perch on the wooden bench, dodging Elide's consoling arms, and run to Aelin.

He glared up at Rowan's towering figure.

Aelin sat up, holding her quaking baby. "Shh I'm okay, Starlight."

"Papa kicked you!"

"We're practicing, Rhoe. Play fighting." Rowan knelt, meeting Rhoe's narrowed eyes. "I would never hurt your mama. Ever."

"But you did." Rhoe said, clutching Aelin tighter. "I saw you."

Though they were eventually able to help Rhoe understand in part what they were doing, it was still clear he was too young to watch more of their sparring.

From then on, Rhoe waited in the hallway with Elide until they were done. This too was hard for him at first as he couldn't see Aelin and could hear her occasionally cry out. But with enough distraction from Elide and shouting back and forth with his mother to check-in, it worked out well.

Which was more than Aelin could say for their training.

Their combat drills were all about depending on her remaining senses since it was unknown when— or if, in Aelin's opinion— she'd recover her vision.

She had to essentially learn how to see without her eyes.

It was all about focusing on what she could hear, smell, and feel. Focusing on the break of the wind from the swing of Rowan's practice sword. Focusing on his nearly non-existent shifting steps on the padded mats. Focusing on which direction his scent drifted to her.

Focus, focus, focus. She was going to singe his eyebrows off the next time she heard that word.

"Aelin, you're not focusing." Rowan said, sitting up after having pinned her to the mat for the seventh time that hour.

Oh, he was pushing his luck.

"It's funny," Aelin pushed herself up and took the towel that Rowan tapped her shoulder with. "How that's typically a word reserved for those with working eyeballs."

She dabbed at the sweat running down her face, the back of her neck.

"Focusing with your eyes isn't what wins battles."

Aelin yanked the string of leather from the end of her messy braid. "Well it definitely helps."

Aelin jumped as Rowan's fingers came over hers, gently pushing her out of the way and dividing the hair into three strands. She grabbed her hair and yanked it over her shoulder, braiding it quickly. "I can do it myself."

She heard his clothes rustle as he stood back to his feet. She felt the towel start to lift from her lap.

Did he think she couldn't take it to the hamper herself? The hamper that was three feet away?

She grit her teeth. "I can do that too."

"I know you _can_." Rowan shot back, dropping the towel. "I'm just willing to do it for you."

"Well don't." Aelin tossed her braid back over her shoulder. "I'm not an infant."

She snatched up the barely damp towel and set to pushing herself to her feet, abdomen trembling from today's workout. She only got one foot under her when Rowan's hands were at her waist, lifting.

"Rowan!" She quickly stood, shoving him off. "Just—stop!"

She turned and took a step, toeing the hamper to make sure, before throwing the towel inside.

"You want me to stop helping you?" Rowan asked, "Just stop entirely?"

Aelin took one, two, three, four, five steps to the wall bench where she'd left her belt with the twin plain daggers and her jacket with four small throwing knives, two of which she'd removed from her vambraces for their sparring.

All the weapons had been with the clothes Elide had first brought her weeks ago— along with Goldryn which remained secretly stashed in their room.

"Yes." Her belt went on first. The blades were shoved into her arm guards next.

"You may not remember, Aelin, or maybe you don't want to," Rowan closed the distance between them and turned her by her shoulder to face him, releasing at her small start. "But we're still bonded in about every way possible. I only exist now to help you."

"I didn't realize we were bonded as nursemaid and child too." Aelin turned back to the bench and stuffed herself into her jacket.

Rowan stood silently, watching as she bent to check the laces on her boots. A new habit of hers developed four days ago when neither of them had noticed they'd come undone from running and the resulting fall had left her snapping at him and flushed bright pink for hours.

"I don't need as much help as you seem to think." Aelin straightened, scowling.

"I don't think you're as independent as you think."

Although she still couldn't access her magic, Rowan could've sworn the room leapt to the temperature of a furnace.

Aelin bared her teeth but held her tongue, choosing instead to storm around him toward the door.

"Aelin—" Rowan started, an apology on his lips, and took her bicep tenderly.

Aelin jumped at the surprise touch and ripped away from him. She spun on her heel, voice shaking despite her anger, "Stop touching me!"

Rhoe ran into the doorway, wide-eyes going straight to Aelin, charcoal dust streaking his hands and nose.

Elide limped into view behind Rhoe in the hallway and handed the drawings they must've been working on down to him.

She looked between the pair and cleared her throat. "Aelin," She said quietly, "It's almost noon now."

At noon today was when Aelin's uncle, King Glaston, had agreed to meet with all of them for their first war council. That was the official reason at least, but as he hadn't been able to stop by to see Aelin since they arrived, Rowan didn't think the meeting would revolve around battle strategies.

Aelin wrapped her arms around her middle and took a deep breath.

"Thank you," Aelin dropped her arms back to her sides, turned sharply on her heel and walked into the hall, "Are Gavriel and Lorcan already there?"

"No," Elide said, "They asked me to come get them when you two had finished."

"We'll meet you there then." Rowan said, following behind Aelin a few paces.

He missed what Elide said in parting to Aelin, too busy watching Aelin pass the hallway they were supposed to turn down.

Where was she headed?

They had practiced the route to the council chamber the day before. They could still get there this way but it wasn't as direct.

Her steps, while cautious, were clipped and her grip on Rhoe was firmer than usual.

It was clear she hadn't let go of their argument yet, but Rowan was unable to keep silent as she was quickly approaching the top of a staircase, he asked through their bond, '_Where are you going_?'

She ignored him.

She may hate his help, but he wasn't about to just sit back and watch her get hurt.

'_Aelin_,' Rowan said, '_There's stairs about ten feet ahead of you_.'

Her shoulders leapt up and she halted. Fingers twitching for the nearest blade at her hip.

The air held its breath before she released hers ever so slowly with a reluctant nod.

Rhoe gazed up at Aelin, slowing his swinging of their joined hands, eyebrows pinched in question.

Aelin continued ahead with a slower gait to the top stair.

It took all of Rowan's immortal patience to keep himself from just picking her up and carrying her down the steps as she reached before and around her, seeking out the marble banister.

It was only a foot more to her right.

She needed to do this herself, he reminded himself. Independence was important on a number of levels for her. She could do this, he told himself but grimaced when she started reaching further to her empty left.

He forced his hands to stay at his sides.

Silently, Aelin leaned back to her right, taking a side step, and grabbed hold of it.

Now to descend.

Rowan rubbed at his temples. He wondered how many males could say they were more worried about their wife than their four-year-old on the stairs.

Not many, he'd guess.

The worry skyrocketed as he watched Rhoe gleefully hop down the first step and Aelin start forward at the momentum, clutching even tighter to the railing.

"Rhoe," Aelin said, "I need my hand right now. We can hold hands again at the bottom."

Rhoe let go and was surprisingly careful as he went down the flight on his own— even grabbing onto the opposite rail.

"Go ahead." Aelin said over her shoulder, standing still as a statue.

Rowan opened his mouth to object before he realized being ahead of her would be better in case she fell.

He passed her and stopped a couple stairs down. He turned to face his mate. "I thought you didn't want my help."

Aelin extended her leg stiffly, feeling out the length of the first step with her foot. "I can get around without you holding my hand like a child," She bit back lowly, mindful of the little ears listening.

Rowan backed down a step as she made it down the first.

She planted both of her feet firmly before feeling out the next one, running her hands down the banister in unison.

She picked back up, "But, I don't want to break my damn neck." Another hesitant step. "I'd be even more useless to my kingdom then."

From the bottom of the staircase, Rhoe's voice echoed up, "You only have eleven steps to go!"

Rowan stepped backwards again with her next stair.

"You're not useless, Aelin." He snapped his gaze up to her face. "Don't talk like that. Don't even think it."

Aelin's top lip curled. "I'll talk and think however the hell I please!" She took two steps not bothering to feel them out. "Don't you dare give me orders, prince."

Rowan reeled back a couple steps. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"What did you mean then?" She dropped one hand to her side, gaining another stair, increasing her descent. "That you know my new limits better than I do? That keeping from saying what everyone in this entire castle's thinking out loud will make it less true? That I'm _not _blinder than a rutting bat—?"

Aelin gasped as the heel of her boot caught on the edge of a missed stair.

"Aelin!" Rowan instantly jolted forward, catching her at the waist at the same time she caught herself.

Her knuckles as white as the stone railing, clouded eyes wide. Panting, she settled the rest of the way onto the step.

Rhoe gasped and raced up to his parents. "Are you okay, mama?"

Rowan knelt on the stair before her, pulse racing. He reiterated the question silently, '_Are you okay_?'

Rhoe sat beside Aelin and hugged her waist above Rowan's still steadying hands. He ignored the hard-silver toggles of her jacket pressing into his face.

Slowly, Aelin pushed Rowan's hands away, and returned Rhoe's hug. She answered their son, "Yes, I'm fine."

"You scared me!" Rhoe's words were heavily muffled as he clutched at her tighter. "You gotta be careful!"

"I'm okay." Aelin reassured him, stroking his back. "Just missed a step."

Rhoe pulled back to look at his mother, his face lighting up with an idea. He scooted to the side. "Why don't you try this?"

He placed his hands on the step beside him, feet both on the step below and lowered his bottom to each step. "Just sit and scoot down the stairs."

Rowan's lips twitched fondly.

Rhoe continued scooting and called back to Aelin, "It's fun and there's no falling down!"

Rowan asked him, "Have you ever tried sliding down a banister?"

Rhoe stopped on the last stair and looked over his shoulder at his father, head tilted, "No, how do you do that?"

Rowan winked at him. "Remind me to show you sometime."

Facing the railing, Aelin asked through their bond, '_Did anyone else see_?'

Rowan glanced around them to the empty hallways above and below. '_No, we're alone_.'

Aelin nodded and pulled herself back to her feet; Rowan following suit.

They took a few more stairs, before he explained, "I hadn't meant what I said as orders. I said not to think like that because your mindset is half the battle."

Their progress halted again and Rowan looked up to see an unreadable mask on her face. "Even with your loss of vision, you're far from useless. You can still lead our people in this war."

"Is that why you finally decided to come for me?" Aelin asked. "The troops weren't following _your_ lead so you needed _me_ to guarantee the victory? As a—a –a weapon?"

"What?" Rowan's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "No, gods no. I'm not _her_, Aelin. You're not a –" He took in her stubbornly set jaw and sighed. This wasn't the time to push that issue. "You're missing the point."

He collected his thoughts, reaching out to brush her hair back behind her ear. "I'm saying that it's what you believe, Aelin, that you will be."

Aelin jerked away from his hand and pushed past him. "I believe I told you not to touch me."

She was unable to see the deep hurt that flashed across her mate's features.

Another week passed by and Aelin pushed herself in getting around—Alone, save for Rhoe.

She pushed herself in exercising. She pushed herself in studying the brail books Elide had managed to find in the royal library. But above all, she pushed herself hardest in training.

Each time she hit the mat with Rowan still standing, missed her target and her knife got the wall instead, got the direction of a sound Rowan created via his wind wrong, she simply insisted, "Again."

Only when Rhoe couldn't stand being in the hallway anymore would she take a break.

Not stop. No, only take a break.

It was nearing the—recently agreed upon— end of their stay there in Wendlyn, when Aelin and Rowan sequestered themselves in the training room once more.

She'd come a long way since their first match when she couldn't even tell that she was facing away from him. Now she matched and parried his every swing and thrust of his sword. Their speed had increased enough to where Rowan's normal running instructions and corrections had tapered off in his concentration.

While it was unmistakable to Rowan how much progress she'd made in such a short time, she was still nowhere close to where she had been five years ago. Glancing at where there would normally be a cocky smirk adorning her face, now Rowan saw only grim determination. Tension. No, she was nowhere close to where she'd been, in form or in spirit.

The air whooshed as her sword swung for his neck forcing him to lurch backwards.

She was actually standing a chance of winning her first of these matches—that is until she focused too much attention on blocking where his sword was swinging for her side and not on where he still stood.

He held his blade against hers and grabbed hold of her free arm, making her jump. "You're narrowing your senses too much."

Aelin gritted her teeth and wrested out of his grip with a grunt, turning out of the lock of their practice swords. In doing so though, she hadn't paid attention to his foot slipping behind her knee.

Rowan threw her off balance with the hook and smacked the sword out of her loosened fingers. Aelin growled and lunged for his jaw with her elbow only for Rowan to snatch her wrist and twist her arm behind her back.

Rowan stilled and expected her to as well but instead she grabbed at his wrist and pressed into his joints to break the hold.

"Aelin."

He had to dodge the open palm strike she threw at his chin and twist her around. He pulled her tighter against him, now gripping both wrists with one hand. Heart dropping as she remained unaware.

"Aelin."

She bent forward as much as the position allowed and let out a cry of frustration. She pulled her leg back, preparing to focus her escape on his lower half.

"Aelin, stop." Finally, he brought his practice sword from where it hung in the air before her exposed throat, to gently tap her there.

Her struggling ceased instantly.

The only sounds that filled the room for a few heartbeats was their panting breaths.

Rowan looked at his wife's blank expression in the mirror on the adjacent wall and battled with himself on what to say. How to feel.

She's planning on fighting in the war in less than two weeks… and she didn't even know for a full minute that his blade had been at her throat.

Aelin straightened with a predatory stillness and whispered, "Let. Go."

Rowan did so instantly and stepped back.

Aelin didn't move.

"You did really well," Rowan ventured, his voice too loud in his ears. "That was the best—"

"I still lost."

Rowan expected tears. Anger. Another put down of herself or snapping at him. But instead her voice held a far-off quality and she said nothing more before slowly making her way to the door. A hand extended before her.

She called out the door, "Rhoe?"

A quick shuffling sounded from the hallway and their bright-eyed son and Elide soon appeared in the doorway. Rhoe skipped the distance to Aelin and took her offered hand.

"Have someone send the Head Healer to our room." She said to her old friend, "I want to start the sessions for my eyes. Right now."

Four argument and healing filled hours later, Aelin was bent over the bowl in their bathroom. Retching. Rowan knelt beside Aelin, holding her hair back.

"If you'd have listened to the healer," He said, "You'd be out there scarfing down chocolate cake with Rhoe right now."

The healer had told them that one session most likely wouldn't bring about any sight, only after a second one would it be possible. And even that he couldn't guarantee. Nor could he guarantee how much of her sight would be regained—at any stage.

What he had guaranteed was serious side effects.

Every stage of her healing would be long, risky, and painful. Migraines, eye pain, nausea and vomiting, among a few of the resulting symptoms.

Aelin hadn't been deterred though. She demanded that the healer do as much as necessary, immediately, and not to stop until she'd gained back her sight. Any amount of it.

Aelin hadn't been awake to hear the healer when he'd finished tell Rowan he'd done as much as he dared do in one sitting.

But she'd been awakened by the pounding ache in her head and the intense urge to empty the contents of her stomach.

And now, as she leaned over the now foul-smelling latrine, a smile of relief graced her features. For she didn't regret her decision one bit.

Not when—blurry and heavily shadowed as they were— she could just make out the outlines of her hands and the bowl before her.

* * *

**A/N: I was so stuck on this chapter, and by adding all that I did here it's put us back a chapter. So as of now this story will be about 25 chapters long. Might possibly be longer. I apologize for taking so long for this update, I'm battling a serious chronic illness currently and that's also added to my taking longer so please be patient with me. As I said in my authors note of "Outtakes of a stay-at-home male" (WHICH PLEASE CHECK OUT GUYS! I am able to update that one sooner than this one cause theyre one shots and they do include Aelin! Also I put NOTIFICATIONS OF UPDATES FOR THIS STORY in those author's notes!), I'm enjoying this story and I won't abandon it so don't worry about that. As always, thank y'all for being so awesome! Your reviews make me smile, give me more motivation, and ideas! Know I'm paying attention! I'd love to hear what you thought about this chapter too! Your thoughts on the tension between Aelin and Rowan? Until next time~ V**


	13. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I own no rights to the "Throne of Glass" series. Any of the characters or things you recognize here are from Sara J Maas' imagination. Not mine.**

**A/N: TIME FOR WARRRRRR!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

The morning came to depart the fair kingdom of Varese with looming clouds and a biting northwestern wind.

On the deck of their transport, Aelin stood blinking against the wind that bullied its way under her hood trying to make out the temperament of the North Sea carrying them. Not that she couldn't feel it. Beneath her feet, the wooden planks creaked, groaned, and pitched in the tide.

She readjusted to a closer target. There was a vague outline of something swollen hanging from the side of the ship below where she stood. A rowboat… or just another edge of the ship? She pushed her eyes to focus. To tell her more than that there were just lumps and shadows all around.

With a quiet curse, Aelin snapped her eyes shut and mashed against her forehead. The new constant ache in her skull jumping from ignorable to sharp again. It pulsed, pulsed, pulsed against the backs of her eyes. Dull colors flashing behind her lids in sync with each throb.

Oh, this was already getting old.

Before they had departed the palace that morning, the healers had warned her not to be overzealous with using her vision just yet. They cautioned that eye strain would be extremely easy at this stage.

Apparently, "overzealous" meant looking around for two hours like any normal person.

A splash sounded before her and a single drop of water found her cheek.

"Whoa!" A high voice exclaimed.

Aelin looked down at the pull on her arm to see the shadow that was her son hopping in attempt to see over the side.

"Did you see that?" Rhoe squealed. With a shriek, he jumped and scurried behind Aelin between a pair of splashes, twin to the first but closer. "That one was right there, mama! He's trying to fly up here! What _are_ they?"

"Those are called "fish"." The rich baritone voice of her husband answered as he came up to her other side. His tone gentle in the way she'd heard him use only with Rhoe.

"Oh! Fenrys told me about those!" Rhoe let go of his Aelin's hand and climbed atop a crate, hands gripping the wooden wall as he looked down into the water. "I didn't know they could fly!"

Aelin laid a bracing hand on his back, a million unwanted images rushing through her head of Rhoe accidentally joining the fish. "Of course they can." She said, "Some people call it "jumping" but—"

"But that wasn't jumping." Rhoe interrupted confidently, "_Ribbits_ jump. The fishes were flying—like birds!"

"Not exactly like birds," Rowan said, "Birds have wings that makes their flight a smooth glide."

"Spoken like a true buzzard." Aelin flinched at the abrupt call of orders from the first mate to the crew behind her and rubbed harder at her temples.

Aelin felt Rowan's gaze—felt, not saw, because she couldn't even come close to seeing something as detailed as features yet—and chose to ignore it.

Conversation between them was still non-existent. He kept trying. To her great annoyance, he tried. But outside of planning their course of travel and occasionally a matter concerning Rhoe, she wouldn't acknowledge him.

She was angry but there was no hatred behind it. Quite the opposite really. Which was why she wouldn't—couldn't—bring herself to discuss the things that were between them just yet. She wasn't sure she could handle hearing his answers to the questions that already tore her up so fully.

At the moment, Aelin didn't know how she would ever discuss the thing that had happened to her four days before he found her rotting in her cell. The things she lost. The ways in which she failed…

But they also hadn't had any _time_ where they could talk. _Alone_. Rhoe never strayed far from her side in Varese, and now they were on a fishermen's ship together with dozens of crewmen and a portion of her court. Discussing all that five years put between them would have to wait until there wasn't an audience.

Which she was perfectly fine with.

Aelin pulled her cloak tight around her. The action and a near-by sniffle reminding her that Rhoe was only in a single layer himself having refused the furry sweater she'd tried to put on him earlier that morning. She could only imagine the shock his body was in now. Doranelle didn't have brutal winters like Terrasen. This was his first.

"Are you cold, Rhoe?"

The small outline of his shoulders rose and fell.

Aelin's eyes watered as she fought to keep them open. "Is that a yes?"

Another shrug accompanied by a slight bouncing.

"Well, it's about time for lunch too." Aelin stretched a hand out toward the little form. "Come on sir-shrugs-a-lot, let's go find our cabin."

* * *

With both Fenrys and Ribbit having been mentioned that day, it wasn't a complete surprise to Aelin that they would be on Rhoe's mind come bedtime— nor was the resulting meltdown.

"Alright, no more monkeys jumpin' on the bed," Aelin said, swooping him up mid-air and mid-giggle. "Time to get under the covers."

"You too!" Rhoe said, scooting toward the porthole and keeping the covers lifted for her to follow.

As this was the cabin's sole bed, Rowan had volunteered to take the floor and left the modest mattress for the two of them.

Aelin thought back over the last month that she'd shared the bed with Rhoe in Varese and ran her hands over her kidneys and stomach. She hoped one more week wouldn't inflict too much more damage.

"Yes, I'm coming too," Aelin said but lowered the quilt. "But not yet. Unlike someone… I didn't get to brush my teeth or comb my hair or put on my nightclothes yet."

Rhoe yawned, pulling his arm out from under the covers to feel around his side of the bed. "Why not?"

Aelin lightly flicked the tip of his nose. "Because I had to help _you_ do all that first."

She watched his arm return under the covers empty handed. "What were you looking for?"

"Nothing…"

She stroked his hair back from his forehead and paused to feel his temperature. He hadn't shown any other symptoms that concerned her but with all the traveling and cold weather, she had to check.

He felt normal. A little on the warm side but not clammy or hot. Having inherited her magic, his body _always_ stayed on the warmer side.

Writing off sickness, she had to ask, "What's wrong, Starlight?"

Rhoe laid still under her continuing strokes. "I miss Fenrys and Ribbit… and Wooly… and Prince Button."

"I can imagine." Aelin mentally added them to her list of things to rectify when she got to Terrasen.

"When are we going home?"

Aelin's lungs froze along with her stroking. Flashes of her time in Doranelle overtaking her. Her mouth worked, trying and failing to find the words to tell him they weren't going back there until Rowan answered first.

From behind the crates that were acting as a dressing divider, Rowan said, "That's not your home, Rhoe."

"Anymore," She added quietly. Because to Rhoe that was his home. It's where he was born and the only place he'd ever even been until a month ago.

Rhoe asked, "It's not?"

"No," She shook her head gently and resumed her stroking. "Where we're going right now, Terrasen, that's our home—your new home."

Rhoe sat up, letting Aelin's hand drop away. "But what about Fenrys? And my friends and my bed and—" He sucked in a shaky breath. "What about the funny cat story? Fenrys always tells me it at bedtime! Who's going to tell me it?"

Little hiccupping sobs arose and were soon muffled in Aelin's chest.

"Shhh, everything's going to be okay." She laid her cheek atop his head and drew him the rest of the way onto her lap, rocking side to side. Aelin rubbed his pajama covered back, grimacing when he sobbed that it's _not_.

"Yes, it is," She said, closing her eyes. "I promise."

Perhaps it was selfish to relish a moment when her son was in such distress, but she did. There had been countless times over the years that Rhoe had come to see her, crying, and because of either the sarcophagus or her shackles, she'd been unable to hold him. Unable to comfort him like he needed. Unable to wipe away the giant tears coursing down his face.

Now she could.

"Tell me more about this "funny cat story"." She said, "How does it go?"

Rhoe lifted his head. "It's about a cat—a cat," He said, stumbling through his tears, "A cat and a bell. And a bird. And he's—he's fat."

Aelin cinched her brows upward. "The bird's fat?"

"No!" Rhoe's sob and laugh entwined, "No, the c-cat's fat."

"Oh, I see," Aelin laughed, "What else?"

"It—the cat yells at the bird, cause—cause he was ringing the bell."

"'The cat of Anielle'?" The mattress sank behind Rhoe as Rowan sat and continued, "I know that old limerick. Would you like me to tell it?"

Rhoe turned in her lap towards his father and laid his back against her. He wiped at his face and nodded.

"_There was a fat cat of Anielle_, "Rowan recited as he absently dried his hair with a towel, "_Who was constantly ringing a bell, Til one day a bird, said, 'Enough I have_—'"

"No!" Rhoe whined and twisted back into Aelin. "You're not saying it right!"

Rowan lowered the towel. "How am I supposed to say it?"

"You didn't whistle or meow—it like Fenrys—I want—," Rhoe gulped and drew another lungful, "I want—Fenrys!"

Aelin stood and paced around the room, holding him close. She glared over Rhoe's head at her mate. '_Thanks, you were a big help_.'

It was a nightly experiment for the next week. Trying and failing repeatedly until trying again and somewhat succeeding in replicating the limerick to Rhoe's liking.

This didn't ease his longing for Fenrys and his friends though. His head hung a bit lower with every mention of them.

Once they docked just off the coast of Terrasen, paid their respects to the crew, and rid the entire ship of any signs of their presence— they came upon something to lift Rhoe's spirits.

From where he walked beside his mother, her hand in his and a juicy peach in the other, Rhoe yelled around his mouthful, "_Horseys_!"

"Can I say hi to them?" Rhoe pointed to the team of steeds huddled around each other in a corral. Their maple skin partially hidden beneath thin blankets and partially beneath snow. Their breath puffed visibly from their nostrils and a few shook the snow from their manes and tails.

"Who would leave their animals outside in this weather?" Gavriel muttered, glancing at the nearby darkened stable.

Aelin started for the corral. "Someone who won't mind loaning them for a few days."

Stopping outside of the pen, they waited for the horses to approach them. The first stuck his head over the fence at Aelin and Elide's level and allowed himself to be stroked. A second poked his head out between the beams.

Rhoe petted its nose right away greeting with an enormous grin, "Hi, horsey!"

"Found the stable hand." Rowan said, exiting the stable with three saddles and bits in his arms and two in Lorcan's. "He wished us swift travels after a few coins."

Elide pursed her lips. "How charitable of him."

Aelin pulled open the creaky gate and looked down at her son. "Ready for your first ride?"

Five of the horses saddled and mounted, they were soon on their way. Plans of avoiding detection were practically dashed when high-pitched cheering rang for miles from the little face poking out from the middle of Aelin's cloak.

Two days of hard riding and only one stop later, they entered the gates of the palace an hour before sunset.

Aelin kept her hood as low as possible over her face. She checked and double checked that her cloak remained closed and didn't cling. That it kept the form of the child sleeping against her entirely from view.

The clip-clop of hooves echoed around the royal stables before becoming muffled by old hay.

Aelin pulled her horse to a stop and kept her voice low, "Is anyone around?"

"We're alone." Rowan dismounted, looking out into the snow beyond. "But there are no doors separating us from the courtyard."

Aelin's horse took a restless step. She looked down at her mate. '_Don't let him be seen_.'

Rowan gripped the edges of his cloak in each hand and reached up under hers. Rhoe stirred at the transfer and sleepily protested when he was set on his feet. "We're here now," Rowan whispered, "Just stay still for a moment." Rowan let his cloak fall closed when he felt Rhoe lean up against his legs.

Aelin gripped the horn and swung herself down with a small grimace. It'd been so long since her body's been accustomed to ridding. She rubbed at her thigh through her leather trousers before opening her cloak to take Rhoe back under.

She breathed in the familiar air of pine and snow and took her son's hand. "Welcome home, Rhoe."

They took the closest servant's passage into the palace. A long forgotten one, if the thick carpet of cob-webs and dust were any indication. At the second unnatural crunch beneath Aelin's boot and another whimper from the face pressed into her knee, she surrendered the lead to Rowan. A steady blowing of his magic cleared the remainder of their path.

They moved briskly and wordlessly through the walls, passing one slit of light revealing the backside of a hidden door. Then a second. And a third.

The fourth one's seam was barely noticeable, the daylight glow from beyond unreachable here. Aelin felt along the wall for its crease and pushed once she felt a faint breeze.

Aelin angled herself slightly out into the hall, just enough to ensure there were no shadows or voices where there shouldn't be. No one should be down here anyway. Not in the middle of a war. Not even any barrels.

"Aelin," Elide whispered, filling out of the passageway after her. "Why are we at the wine cellar?"

Aelin shot straight for the cellar door, Rhoe's little legs trying to keep up with her causing her cape to tent out behind her. She paused and pressed her ear to the door before shoving the wooden latch-knob open with a grunt.

"I've been a prisoner for five years and I'm heading out to end a war," She drawled, "Can you blame me for needing a drink?"

Aelin stood aside to let her companions enter first and light the cold torches of the pitch-black room.

Even if there had been something left by the raid of Adarlan's army over a decade ago, she had no plans to drink. She'd chosen the cellar because it was the lowest point in the castle—other than the dungeons. Attack from man or beast would take quite some time to reach this depth. And with only one entrance point, it was the safest spot in the palace.

Closing the door behind her, she looked down and pulled the folds of her cloak back. "You can come out now."

"I'm not here!" Came the muffled call.

"Oh no!" Aelin gasped, opening her cloak further. "Did my cloak gobble you up?"

"Yes!" Rhoe dodged her seeking fingers, throwing himself behind her other leg. "Now I have to stay in here for always!" Rhoe jolted away from her sneak-tickle-attack from outside the fabric with a squealing giggle.

Aelin giggled with him, unfastening the cloak from her shoulders. She turned to kneel at her son's eye level and draped the cloak around _his_ shoulders.

She hoped having her scent wrapped around him would help make this easier on him. "Well then you stay in it for always if you must."

Aelin lifted the hood onto his head— only for it to slip over his whole face and draw out another laugh. She finished, "Keep it safe for me until I get back."

Any trace of laughter vanished.

Rhoe reached out the middle to shove the hood off. "'Back'?"

Aelin steeled herself with a slow breath. This was the part she'd been dreading for weeks.

"Yes, I have to go help in the war," She said, "But I'll not be far and I'll be right—"

"No!" Rhoe slammed himself against her, arms resolute around her middle.

Aelin swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. Returning the embrace, she said, "Elide, Lorcan and Gavriel will be here with you. And papa and I'll be back—"

A sob shook the young prince. "No, mama."

Aelin tipped her head back to the ceiling, breathing back the tears. Gods, she couldn't do this.

"Your—Your papa and I will be back in time for dinner." She looked down again as another sob shuddered out of him. She smoothed down his wind and hood frazzled hair. "Are you listening?"

Rhoe gave a muffled affirmation but laced his fingers together behind his mother's back. "Please don't leave me!"

Maybe neither Maeve, Erawan or the lock would be the one to deal her final blow after all.

Aelin cleared her throat and struggled to keep her voice even as she called over her shoulder, "Do any of you have a watch?"

A warm pocket watch was deposited into her outstretched palm. She ignored the small flutter that rushed through as her husband's fingers brushed hers.

Aelin reached behind her and unlaced her son's grip. Keeping his hands in hers, she slid the watch into his palm. "Do you see a black line that's longer than the others?" She waited for a nod. "I'll be back before that one's pointed straight at the bottom and the littler one is pointed straight at the top."

Rhoe shook his head and eeked out, "Don't go." He coughed out a sob. "Please, mama."

He clung to her once more, arms now wrapped tightly around her neck.

"Six o'clock is only an hour and a half from now," She said, traitorous tears finally escaping her, "If I'm not back by then, you have my permission to go look for me with Elide and Lorcan and Gavriel, okay?"

A strangled "okay" was said into her neck.

She sniffled and laid a lingering kiss on the tip of his ear. "I will be back before then though."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Rhoe pulled back enough to hold his hand up between them, one finger held in the air. "Pinky promise?"

Aelin remembered back to the day about four months ago, on the grimy cell floor, Rhoe had laid next to her and shared what Fenrys had taught him about pinky promises. "Fenrys said when you promise with your pinkies—these short fingers, see?" He'd said, "—Your promise means you really mean it. That its gonna happen, no matter what!"

Now, Aelin clutched Rhoe back to her one last time, their interlocked pinkies between them.

"I promise I'll come back to you, my Starlight," She whispered, "No matter what."

* * *

Before Aelin had left the cellar with Rowan, she'd taken Lorcan aside.

"That door doesn't open for _anyone_ but me. If things up there go to hell, you get him out," She'd ordered, "I don't care what you have to do, who you have to kill, who you have to leave behind. _You get him out_."

And she'd meant it. She didn't care what it would cost to keep her son safe. For the first time in his life, Aelin had complete parental authority. And she would ensure he was protected.

Now stalking through the halls, Aelin clenched her fingers into a fist at her side. Her promise to Rhoe would be kept. She didn't need to worry about a plan B. She would come back to him. She promised. She'd come back.

Step by step with her mate, she made her way out to the battlements—and kept reminding herself of her promise.

Immediately after Aelin stepped past the gates, murmurs started.

"Is that—?"

"I don't believe my eyes."

"The queen's come!"

"No, can't be, she died!"

"Must be the shifter again."

She did nothing to show she'd heard them, resuming a swift gait once Rowan got the information they needed from the nearest weary soldier.

"Twelfth one to the left." Rowan nodded toward the shadowed mass ahead.

Two unlit torches—or dead trees, Aelin couldn't tell which— stood erect at either side of the tents entrance.

Her cousin was in that tent. Her best friend. Aelin didn't know if he was alone in there but in case he wasn't… She took a steadying breath and threw her shoulders back a little more. Time to pretend the last half decade didn't happen.

She took another step for the tent and that's when the sky came crashing down.

Or rather rocks were crashing down from the sky.

Large slabs of stone. Falling like leaves off a tree in autumn.

Screams of terror rang out amidst their whistling descents. Soldiers poured out of the tents scrambling for their weapons and shelter on this open plain.

The ground beneath Aelin's feet shook with each boom. She pitched backwards into Rowan from the vibration of the next slab that fell not five yards away.

Her mate righted her on her feet and he yelled over the raid, "Where is our aerial legion?"

Aelin looked up to the clouds but all she could make out was blankness broken by the stones. No sign of anyone at all. The winter cloud cover provided a perfect disguise for whatever was dropping them.

Then the battle cries rang out. Out from their camp on the edge of Oakwald Forest the Valg army came.

This hadn't been their sole attack. It was merely to draw them out for the next round of battle.

Going from evade to attack, Aelin heard the commanders of her army and allies scattered about begin blowing horns and calling the soldiers forward.

But the stones were still falling. Still crushing.

Aedion. She needed to get to Aedion now.

"Incoming!" Someone yelled, "Move, move, move!"

Rowan was suddenly grabbing her arm and running back towards the gates.

The stone that fell where they'd been made the ground quake. Tremors shot through their legs and they dropped to their hands and knees in the snow.

"I have to get to Aedion!" Aelin shouted, pulling both of them back to their feet.

Rowan nodded and looked back toward the command tent. "I don't think that's going to be a problem!"

"_Aelin_?"

Aelin turned at the familiar—disbelieving—voice and took a step. "Aedion."

Aedion lifted his shield—her father's shield—over his shoulder and hung it across his back and mirrored her step.

More whistling sounded and they all looked up. But they weren't falling over the tents anymore but rather on the battlefield.

More screams and booming. The slabs now crushing both valg and human.

Aedion gripped the hilt of his sword, the only grief he'd allow himself to show for now, and ran the rest of the distance to Aelin.

He opened his arms for a hug but Aelin intercepted and took his hands instead. Squeezing them.

Aedion squeezed back and said through his tears, "I can't believe—," He looked to Rowan, "You found—," Back to Aelin, "You're _alive_!"

Aelin laughed wetly.

"Where were you?" Aedion asked, and reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek. His finger lingered under her eye. The cataracts on them catching his attention. "What-what happened? Are you okay?"

Aelin dropped her gaze to the snow. "I'll fill you in later!" She shouted over the whistling, "Is Manon here?"

"She's leading the aerial division."

Aelin cursed internally. She needed to get up there. She said as much.

"Why?" Another tremor ran through the ground and Aedion turned to look over the crushed tents to the battlefield.

Aelin shut her eyes and admitted, "Maeve knows I gave the keys to Manon." She shot a glance at Rowan as he sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn't wanted him to find out like this. Find out at all actually.

She looked back to her cousin. "I have to get to them before Maeve."

Aedion shook his head. "Aelin, Manon doesn't have the keys."

No.

Aelin couldn't breathe. "You mean Maeve already—?"

"No, no one has them anymore." Aedion interrupted. "Dorian already did the lock. He did it a year ago."

A year ago. Months before she was blinded. Months before she was assaulted. All for keys… that were already gone.

The lock was already forged… which meant…

Aelin gasped, "_Dorian's_—?"

"_Alive_." Aedion finished, "It's a long story. One that I honestly didn't understand most of."

Loud screeching roars split the air and the stones began to fall in a less uniformed manner.

Rowan looked up at the clouds. "They've found them."

Aedion blinked up against the falling snow then looked over to the soldiers in battle. "I need to get out there."

"We'll be joining." Aelin shoved the information about the lock to the back of her mind. She'd process that later.

"We need to get armor first." She lowered her voice, "And then I need you to trust me."

Aedion turned back to her and listened.

* * *

All the way back to the castle for their armor, Rowan's stare drilled a hole in her back.

They entered a small sitting room off the front hall that held only a dusty furnace and a table with meager piles of armor and weapons.

Wordlessly, Aelin removed Goldryn from her back, and began pulling on a leather under coat. Next came the metal bodice. A sheath of arrows went across her back.

Rowan tugged and buckled the straps of his vambraces and caught the sheath of arrows Aelin tossed at his head. He watched her as she forced each piece of her armor into place. Rowan ducked under the chest strap of the sheath.

"Are you going to share your plan with me," He asked, "Or are you hoping I'll die of suspense first?"

She stopped with her shin guard hovering over her leg and her narrowed eyes shot to him. "That's not funny."

Rowan shrugged and picked up the nearest bow. "It wasn't meant to be."

The joints of the shin guard clattered loudly as she slammed it on and secured it. She quickly did the same to the other. "I'm going to finish the war." She straightened and knotted her hair into a strict bun at the base of her nape. "That's all anyone needs to know."

Rowan clenched his jaw and tucked another blade into his belt. Finished with her armor, Goldryn proudly on display now across her back, Aelin went to storm past him out the door. He shot out and grabbed her hand.

Her brows furrowed and she growled, "What?"

"I know you're not stupid, Aelin," He growled right back, "So don't make stupid mistakes just because you're angry."

She turned her attention to the door as multiple booms echoed.

"You can't take on an entire army by yourself," He said, "No one can."

"Don't underestimate me," Was all she said.

"I think my estimation is the only realistic one here; I know exactly how prepared you are for this." He snapped. "In case you've forgotten, I'm the one that's been training with you for the past month!"

A muscle twitched in her jaw but she made no comment.

"You told them to call everyone back on the line," He pressed, "You told your army to stand down. Not to interfere."

"I know what I said."

"Do you? Because it sounds like suicide." His heart skipped a beat and he looked her over, wondering if maybe he'd hit the nail on the head. "Are you—are you trying to die?"

She scoffed, pulling her hand out of his. "I have a baby who's waiting on me to get back to him in an hour—which you're delaying by the way."

Rowan blinked. "An hour."

"Yes."

"You plan to defeat the entire army… in an hour."

"Planning for 'less than' actually." Aelin lifted her hand, looking down her nose as though examining the nails hidden beneath her glove. "Have to factor in walking time."

Rowan gaped.

A bit of old Aelin slipped through as a smirk slid into place and she repeated in a purr, "Don't underestimate me."

A series of distant booming happened followed by a muffled roaring and then cheers. Rowan glanced at the door then back to his wife. "You may have the rest of them fooled, Aelin," He said, "But we both know you can't access your magic right now."

An inane glint came into her eye. "Won't stop me from trying to."

With that, she marched into the din of battle.

* * *

The clash of steel. The cries of courage and of agony.

Aelin Ashyrver Whitethorn Galathynius ran into its raging midst.

She scanned the soldiers before her urgently. They were all shadows. All alike.

She couldn't tell who were her men and who was the enemy.

A sharp whistle caught her attention. She threw herself into a backwards bend narrowly dodging the flying dagger.

Two men ran for her. Their weapons poised.

Definitely not hers then.

She met the sword with her own and spun away from the other's axe. A flick of the wrist and one of her knives found the axe bearer's heart.

The swordsman swung for her head but she chopped off his arm with Goldryn. Before his scream could be fully voiced, she'd removed his head as well.

A new opponent was already running at her.

Delivering his death just as swiftly, Aelin slid into the killing calm.

Left. Down.

This was for her parents.

Another on the right. Down.

This was for her new family.

Two center. Down and down.

This was for younger Aelin, Aedion, Elide, and all of the children who've had their world torn from them.

One leapt upon her from behind. She used his momentum to throw him over her shoulder and onto a fallen soldier's erect blade.

A cry and a flash from her right. Her blade pierced his neck.

Her breath was loud in her ears.

One ahead.

Next.

Left.

Another.

One tried to stab up at her from the ground and another rushed her from the right.

Goldryn plunged through the man to the earth. An arrow pulled from her sheath plunged straight through the right's skull.

Another came and fell.

Then another.

Another.

A gag rose in Aelin's throat from the stench of the black blood spurting upon her.

She cut down another.

Screams of her dying men broke through her haze. A chorus of them. Hundreds.

For years her people had been giving their lives to fight this darkness. For longer than she'd been alive.

It was enough.

A commanding voice reached her. Aedion.

She located him a few yards to her left through the soldiers locked in combat. "General!"

Aedion's head snapped around to her call.

Aelin fueled her magic into her blade and raised Goldryn to the heavens. Flashing the raging ruby in its pommel.

Her signal. It was time.

Aedion gutted the valg grunt charging at him then screamed til his voice broke. "_Fall back to the gate_!" His call spread through the ranks, "_Fall back_!"

Aelin continued to fight her way to the center. Careful to avoid those that raised no weapon to her. Careful to remember how far she'd come from the wall.

She kept fighting. Kept breathing. Kept pushing through.

Only once she heard the crystal-clear call of a horn did she stop. Aedion's signal: All of her men were clear.

From every direction they yelled and ran for her as she alone stood in their midst. The ones who killed her people. The ones who served the king and queen that brought such suffering. The ones that sought to make them bow.

But she was the Queen Who Was Promised. The heir of Brannon and Mala. She was Aelin of the Wildfire—And it was time they knew what that meant.

Aelin breathed in deeply. This was for her kingdom.

With Goldryn gripped firmly in one hand, Aelin spun. And five years of pent up god-bestowed fire erupted.

When the Queen of Terrasen landed on one knee, her sword held out behind her—the entire enemy legion was already ash in the wind.

Aelin did nothing but breathe.

Roaring drifted to her ears. Roaring not of the wind but of her army.

Roars of victory.

_Long live the queen! Long live the queen! Long live the queen!_

She sensed her mate approaching and slid Goldryn into its sheath.

The snow turned to mud around her squelched under quick steps. Rowan reached for her shoulder but stopped himself and clutched her hands instead.

He grappled for words and Aelin took pity on him. She said, "Told you I'd do it in under an hour."

A guffaw. "You did it under twenty minutes."

"They weren't as good of fighters as I'd anticipated." Aelin released his hands and started to turn back toward the palace.

With the sun now set she couldn't make out the exact time from the darkening sky but she knew it was still before six. She'd still make it back to Rhoe much earlier than her deadline.

But three things approaching through the smoke made her pause. Three people.

"Rowan." She rested a hand on Goldryn and let her flames wrap around the other.

A sharp inhale as he turned. "Maeve."

Though the smoke was clearing and the outlines became larger as they neared, they remained unidentifiable to Aelin. But the satin voice that rang out she knew better than her own.

"You seem to be short a prince." Maeve said in greeting. No coat covered her navy gown yet she seemed completely comfortable in the falling snow.

Aelin said nothing. Only took a step closer. Rowan did the same, keeping himself firmly at her side and his eyes on the snake.

The Valg queen stopped a few feet away and glanced behind them. "I'm assuming you've hidden him somewhere in the castle?"

Aelin ignored the question. "You seem to be short a b*stard and three keys." Aelin said over the howling wind, "Something go wrong?"

Maeve's mouth set into a hard line. "I discovered that the gate has long since been sealed."

Aelin clicked her tongue. "What a shame."

"Yes, it seems you whored yourself to my males for nothing."

Aelin's breath caught and her flames guttered but she placed a restraining hand on Rowan's arm at his furious snarl.

Not yet. Not for her. Not when it was true.

"As for Connall, he's back in Doranelle— awaiting his execution should my white wolf fail me."

The snow began to spiral in the wind. Rowan spit, "In what?"

Maeve's black eyes glittered. "The keys are lost to me now but I won't return home empty handed." She paused. "Fenrys."

No.

Aelin couldn't get her tongue to form the word. Ice spread through every corner of her being. Rooting her to the ground. She tried to shake her head at the form to Maeve's left as he slunk forward.

_Please_.

Maeve swept an immaculate ivory hand from Fenrys then to the castle. She smiled. "Fetch."

"_No!_" Aelin broke through the ice within her with a scream. She flung herself forward. Reaching. Straining to grab hold of any part of him that was vanishing.

But she was too late.

* * *

**A/N: _Dun dun dunnnn_. Sorry I took longer than expected on this update but hope you enjoyed! Please review! It gives me fuel to keep going! :) Until next time~ V**


	14. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Sarah J Maas is the author of the spectacular series "Throne of Glass". The events you read here are my take on those books. I'm a fan, I make no money from this, pretty please don't sue me :)**

**A/N: **

**To rolltide7: Thank you for opening my eyes to something I misunderstood for the whole entire series! Haha! I always thought Aelin and Rowan's mating bond communication was like audible in their heads! I've tried to fix that to be more canon from here on out. ALSO... about what you said about Fenrys and Ribbit... you read my mind and I didn't want to spoil it by telling you earlier but... you'll see ;) Thank you for all of your wonderful comments!**

**To the guest reviewers Maria and Books... I love you guys, your continued reviews and interest in my story makes my day. Thank you for being awesome.**

**To everyone... YOU'RE ALL THE BEST! And Guess what? Three more chapters to go until we're at the chapter idea that started this whole story! Woot woot! Now on with the story.**

**WARNING: Final war chapter so there's a wee bit of gore and (censored) language. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

Aelin watched the snow swirl in the empty air where Fenrys had stood only seconds before.

Her baby. Fenrys was going after her baby.

_No_.

"I will enjoy having my heir back in Doranelle with me. Especially now that I know of his magic. Training—molding—him will be priority and…" Maeve dragged in a cleansing breath, "Exquisite."

The dark queen had to careen backwards then as Aelin lunged forward and slashed for her neck—Goldryn missing by a hairsbreadth.

Aelin threw up a shield of flame at the lash of black shooting for her side. She looked over her shoulder to see Rowan now locked in heated combat with Cairn. "Rowan!"

Rowan shoved away from the lock of his and Cairns' blades. His mate was paler than he'd ever seen but battled the dark queen without restraint.

Terror ripped through their bond as she glanced back his way and screamed, "_Rhoe_!"

Side-stepping an awl meant for his heart, Rowan grabbed Cairn's forearm and _yanked_. He relished the resulting howl and pop. Without hesitation, he brought his blade down and hand and sword thudded to the dirt. Cairn screamed; his skin growing slick with sweat.

Soldiering on, Cairn struck out repetitively with his good arm. But the struggle was over after Rowan swung again and Cairn's remaining hand fell. A removal of air from his lungs and Cairn was on his knees before the prince.

Rowan crossed both his and Cairn's swords before the male's neck.

A single word took form on his paling lips: _Mercy_.

The plea only hardened Rowan's resolve. For years his mate had suffered under this male's willful administrations with no reprieve. Had _blinded_ her. He wished he had the time to repay Cairn with the same leniency.

Instead, with a final swing, Rowan pulled the swords back— and plunged them through Cairn's heart.

He didn't waste another second of his time on parting words or watching the carcass fall. Rowan shifted and rushed to his son.

* * *

Not so much as a glance at the hawk speeding for the palace or her fallen commander, Maeve circled her prey. "You can see again." Surprise and anger wared on her face. "What healer do I have to kill for that?"

Sharp tendrils of Maeve's dark magic lashed out, sending Aelin skidding backward in the mud. Each mist-like weapon struck for where armor was not then retreated from answering walls of flame.

The tendrils turned to gusts and Aelin cried out as a blast from behind slammed her into the mud. Hard.

Panicked, she felt for the small token tied against her arm. The token Elide had placed in her clothes back in Varese— it remained in place.

She sprung back to her feet in time to block the new wave, but almost missed the next.

Aelin cut a glance over at the silent castle. She was aware of every second that ticked by. Every second that worked against them.

Rhoe was safe. She'd left him with guards in the lowest, most deserted, part of the castle. She'd also kept him hidden in hers and Rowan's cloaks from the moment they'd entered Orynth not only to ward off prying eyes but also to cover his scent with theirs. He was safe.

Aelin grunted as another powerful gust slammed against her flaming shield.

Even if Fenrys was still able to track him and get past everyone— including Rowan who knew of his mission— Maeve still wouldn't get her hands on Rhoe. She was not walking off of this field. Rhoe would be safe.

Aelin would die and bring the world down with her before anyone harmed her son.

On her next strike, Aelin's flames leapt upon Maeve's arm causing her to recoil with a hiss. Aelin didn't hesitate. She directed her efforts on the weakened side, causing Maeve to focus on deflection.

When Maeve's form darted to the right, Aelin skewered Goldryn through… nothing.

Aelin looked between the two forms and took a step back. An illusion? She blinked heavily and tried to shake off the sudden nausea rising up; Wrong move.

Now a familiar ache began to pulse from her eyes through to the back of her skull. Involuntarily, Aelin's eyes snapped shut and a quiet groan escaped her.

"Your new eyes appear to be troubling you," Maeve said, and paused her attacks to drink in the suffering. A tilt of the head. "I think I like them better this way."

Aelin clutched at her head, eyes watering as she strained to keep them open. Maeve and the forest behind her were blending into one. Which was closer, she couldn't tell. Blurry shadows one in the same.

"Tell me…" Maeve began to circle again. "What are the limits to your new eyes?"

Aelin hurled a fireball toward what she thought was the direction of the voice and footsteps. It soared through empty air.

"Perhaps they hurt?"

A tendril lashed the backside of Aelin's knee, and she staggered with a cry.

The footsteps stopped. "How well do they do in the dark?"

Like the rolling start of a fog, thick black shadows consumed the pair.

Aelin's breath matched the tempo of the hammering in her skull. An ember fizzled to life on her fingers but flickered out. She had been in such depths of darkness like this before: The pits in Endovier and her last several months in Doranelle. She hated it. Hated blinking, feeling her face, the walls around her but being unable to escape the impenetrable black. It was like having a blindfold on that she could never remove.

Her fear threatened to drown her.

"_No_," Aelin growled back at the panic clawing in her chest. Too much was at stake for her to give in now.

Rowan's words in Varese came to her, '_Focusing with your eyes isn't what wins battles_.' Aelin forced herself to swallow her panic and focused on her remaining senses.

She focused on the footsteps that seemed to be both everywhere and nowhere. Focused on the grimy smell of the mud around her. Focused on the soft swishing of Maeve's gown trailing against the ground. Focused on the solid warm metal of Goldryn in her hands. Focused on everything but the pressing dark and her throbbing head.

A twig snapped to Aelin's right and she lunged.

Nothing.

A squelch of mud ahead…

Nothing.

Cold fingers brushed down her back. A soft breath in her ear, "I'm over here, Aelin."

Aelin cried out as cold steel pierced through skin and tissue of her underarm. The knife was ripped out leaving fierce stinging in its wake. Aelin spun on Maeve but her faulty balance careened her to her knees in the mud, her fire going wide.

Blood spurted under her arm at an alarming rate. Aelin tried to tighten her grip on her sword but found she couldn't move her fingers. _Artery_, her mind supplied.

Aelin switched Goldryn to her other hand and erected her flames into a barrier between her and the footsteps tracking through the mud ahead.

"I was promised a duel, Fire-bringer, and I must say I'm disappointed…" Maeve observed the young queen through the distortion of the bright divider. She watched Aelin struggle and fail to rise. The sight reminded her of a newborn deer: Pitiful. Maeve lifted her hand, "Allow me to help you to see a little better."

The painful pressure in her head increased until a scream began to rise in her throat. Until she was kneeling on familiar marble instead of mud. Until the dark of Doranelle's throne room surrounded Aelin.

The pain in her head and wound ebbed though blood still seeped out and made the ragged white shift— now replacing her armor— cling to her side. Her pain was gone yet her stomach churned at the crystal-clear view around her. The last view she'd seen perfectly over nine months ago.

At a shrill scream, Aelin tried to stand but found her old irons binding her wrists and ankles to a new bolt in the floor. Another shriek quickly followed and she began to struggle with the chains. Yanking, tugging, pushing until her skin began to grow wet with more of her blood.

She knew that voice— and she'd never heard him so terrified.

"Would you like to know what my guard's orders are concerning the child should I not return?"

Reclining on her stone throne, flowing skirt neatly spilling onto the dais, Maeve stroked the owl perched above her shoulder. Rhoe's fearful screams issuing from somewhere down the hall, almost soothing her. "Surely you understand I can't allow you to reclaim him."

Aelin continued tugging fruitlessly, choking through a sob, "_Please_!"

"_Fenrys_! _Mama_! _Mama_—!" Abruptly, his screams ended and the owl flapped its wings once in horror while a triumphant smile lit Maeve's face.

Aelin burned. Her throat and every part of her _burned_ as she _screamed_ her grief and rage to the heavens. The agonizing pressure in her head returned and Aelin was still screaming as she threw herself to her feet in the muddy field and her fire upon Maeve.

Past the pain, past the fear, past the blindness, Aelin attacked with flame and sword. Where the plumes clouded her vision, Aelin banished them with a spear of fire. Where Maeve advanced, Aelin pushed back.

Maeve's eyes shone in pleasure. "There you are."

On and on they danced in a deadly rhythm; neither speaking, neither relenting. Each blow more brutal than the last. But Aelin's was wearing out. Her adrenaline spike beginning to spiral.

Her hits grew weaker. Her fire leapt half the distance. And Maeve noticed.

A burst of shadows. A momentary grappling and Maeve was behind Aelin once more. One hand buried in her hair, the other suspended before her throat; directing her magic to coil around Aelin from head to toe. Goldryn cast feet away in the mud.

Maeve's panting breaths caressed Aelin's cheek. "Once I see to this war's end and return to Doranelle," She smiled. "I will ensure _my heir_ knows you died fighting for him."

"How kind— kind of you." Aelin gasped out and smiled back venomously. She struggled against the plumes encircling, searing her arms to grasp her token. "Except, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Maeve made her power press a little harder. "Enlighten me."

Aelin's back arched and she almost lost her grip. Almost. The moment the pain relented enough to let her say her last words, to take her final breaths, Aelin moved.

She tore the gold ring free from her wrist guard's leather laces, shoved Athril's ring onto Maeve's finger and scooped Goldryn from the mud as Maeve reeled back with a piercing shriek.

Maeve dropped to the sopping earth. Guttural screeching continued to issue from her as she tried to touch the ring, to remove it but couldn't come close. She slunk down onto her side as it drained her of her very self.

Aelin gazed down at her former captor and held Goldryn over her neck. She answered, "Rhoe is _my_ _son_, you b*tch."

A single swing of Aelin's blade and the Queen of the Valg was no more.

Aelin set the corpse on fire and tore off for the castle.

Her vision blacked out several times before she made it into the halls but she managed to stay on her feet.

New and familiar forms and voices and hands came into her path. Questioning, greeting, soothing. She shoved them all aside.

_Rhoe_. She had to get to Rhoe.

Tears began to race down her face as seconds continued to fly.

_Rhoe_. His name might've only been a desperate plea in her mind or she might have been screaming it.

She had to get to him before Fenrys.

She begged every being and force she could think of. _Please don't take him_.

She knew the reason Maeve picked Fenrys to retrieve Rhoe. She could've had Connall retrieve him if it was only about their magic. No, she knew that the moment Rhoe spotted Fenrys, he would run right into his arms. Happily. There would be no struggle.

All Aelin could see was her innocent son, still wrapped up in her cloak and anxiously looking at the watch, being whisked away to his death by someone he trusts.

The sharp pulsating of her failing eyes threw her off balance, sending Aelin skidding around the next corner and into an urn. She was up and taking off back down the hall before the object smashed against the floor.

Aelin reached under her injured arm and pressed against the slowly clotting— thanks to her magic— wound. The spike of pain cleared her head just barely. Just enough to help her stomach hold out a little longer. Just enough to make out the cellar door now forty feet away.

A miserable sob pushed through her clenched teeth. _Please be in there_.

Even though Maeve was now dead, and the oath that compelled Fenrys to carry out this order no longer bound him, it still may be too late. He might have gotten to Rhoe before she died. Or he may still be carrying it out as failing to do so would still kill a part of him.

Maeve had planned for every outcome and pulled every heart string. Should Fenrys decide to leave Rhoe, he would lose his brother. It was her son or his twin.

Another sob wrenched out. She knew who he'd pick. Her only hope was that Rowan had gotten to Fenrys first.

Aelin threw her unsteady weight against the door and pulled from that still endless well inside of her. Flames leapt into her palm as she threw the latch.

A well-oiled machete—sharp and unyielding— was at her throat the second she crossed the threshold. Her flames— blue and honed into a dagger— blazed steadily back at the assailant's neck.

Lorcan's scent registered with her a second before he released a small sigh of relief and dropped his weapon.

Aelin didn't drop hers. Every fiber of her thrummed and shook as she growled, "Where is my baby?"

"Mama, you're back!"

From far back in the shadowed cellar's aisle's, Rhoe squirmed out of Elide's protective embrace and ran toward his mother's voice. A wide, joyous smile split his face beneath the too-large cloak still dwarfing him as he came out into the center of the room and saw her.

Aelin fell to her knees.

The deep green cloak trailed behind him collecting dirt and dust as Rhoe ran the remaining distance and crashed into Aelin's outstretched arms.

"Oh, Starlight," Aelin could barely get the words out through her weeping. Clutching him tightly, she kissed every spot she could reach. He was here. He was safe. For that, she silently thanked her mate and every being she could name.

"Look!" Rhoe lifted the pocket watch to her face, making her go cross-eyed. "The clock didn't even touched the top!"

Aelin laughed and took his pinky in hers, kissing that tiny finger too. "I promised I'd be back before it did."

Aelin laid her head atop of Rhoe's to hide her grimace. She clenched her eyes shut and made herself just breathe through the vice-like headache. A visit with a healer and a good long nap were next on her agenda.

Aelin was vaguely aware of Rowan's presence entering into the room behind her and she felt Rhoe stir in her arms to look.

"_Fenrys_!"

Her eyes flew open. Blade drawn and Rhoe pressed firmly to her side, Aelin faced the door and enclosed both of them in a transparent fire dome.

With a curling snarl, she silently dared Fenrys: _Try_ _it_.

Fenrys didn't move from the doorway except to tiredly raise his hands.

Rowan knelt next to the dome. "Rhoe's safe, Aelin. He's not a threat."

Aelin lowered her blade but not the dome. "Now that the oath is gone."

"Fenrys fought the oath until Maeve died. I found him dying from it, sequestered in a room on the other side of the castle," Rowan said, "He never planned on taking Rhoe."

The dome fell away.

Rhoe squirmed in Aelin's hold, looking from her to Fenrys.

Gentle awe filled Fenrys' tone as he lowered his hands and addressed Aelin, "You can _see_."

"Not much," _Even less right now,_ she mentally added. "You look like a shadowed blob to me."

Fenrys sighed. "No, you're seeing right; I feel like a blob."

Aelin smirked.

Fenrys took that as his cue to enter and he came and sat before the trio. "Hi, Rhoe-ly-poly."

Aelin let go and Rhoe flung himself into Fenrys arms.

Rhoe said into his chest, "I missed you."

"I missed you." Fenrys tickled Rhoe's side and reached into his pocket amidst the squirming. "And someone else… missed you too."

Aelin smiled but massaged her temples harder as Rhoe squealed, "_Ribbit_!"

Rhoe hopped in place, hugging his best-frog-friend.

Rowan muttered to himself, "So that's the frog."

Rhoe stilled and asked Fenrys, "What about Prince Button and Wooly?"

"They didn't make this trip, they wouldn't fit in my jacket."

"Oh." Rhoe frowned at said jacket. Then he pulled it open and looked at the empty pocket. "Well there's room now!"

Fenrys threw his head back and laughed.

Rhoe just looked at him, brows drawn.

"Oh," Fenrys looked up to see everyone looking at him expectantly. He scrambled to his feet. "I guess—I guess I'll be right back then?"

"Good!" Rhoe patted Fenrys leg and sat back on Aelin's lap with Ribbit. "Me and Ribbit won't go anywhere. We'll be right here."

Aelin kissed the crown of his head. "Yes, you will."

* * *

A brief visit with a healer, a heavily oiled bath, and a restful day later, Aelin sent for Aedion and Lysandra.

"Please tell me we're here for a nap." Aedion said, crossing to the closest couch upon entry, "I'm just going to tune you out if not."

Rowan shut the door behind Lysandra. "Not enough beauty sleep?"

"I'm getting by on my natural rugged looks for now but—"

"But it's your intelligence and _manners_—" Aelin smacked Aedion's hand away that was hovering over her chocolate truffles and silenced his pout with a deadly glare. "— that are lacking? Sleep can't restore what never existed."

Lysandra sat beside Aedion and drank in the sight of her queen standing before her. Alive. After the battle yesterday, she had been on her way to the infirmary wing to check on her uncle— who had been wounded a few days prior— and spotted Rowan conversing with the remaining lords just outside. She had stumbled back into a wall then, unable to breathe, when she saw Aelin standing next to them. Her weeping had been uncontrollable.

Next thing she knew, Aelin was pulling her hands away from her face and holding them tightly— smiling, as she said her name despite the tears pooling in her own eyes. A day later, Lysandra still couldn't believe she was really here.

Now, Lysandra looked between her soon-to-be-official Rulers and prompted, "So what's the big news you wanted to share with us?"

"There's someone I want you to meet." The setting sun cast the dazzling colors of the stained-glass windows around the room but Aelin seemed to glow all on her own as she turned toward the cracked open bedroom door. "Come on out, Starlight."

With his cousin's back turned, Aedion popped a truffle in his mouth. Lysandra scolded him quietly until the sound of little feet running out captured both of their attention.

Rowan looked on fondly, proudly, as Rhoe ran out from the room and straight into his mother's open arms.

Rhoe eyed the strangers from his perch on Aelin's hip while she introduced, "Rhoe, this is your Uncle Aedion and soon-to-be-Aunt Lysandra. Lysandra, Aedion," Aelin nuzzled his ever-soft hair and smiled as Rhoe gave a shy next-to-his-face wave then pressed closer to her. "This is our son, Rhoe."

Lysandra gasped, "Oh. My…"

And Aedion's jaw merely dropped, the chocolate ball plopping out of his mouth and to his lap.

* * *

**A/N: Just to give y'all a hint... I have a sequel in the works (and I'm WAY more excited about that one) and this chapter really started setting up for it. Hope you enjoyed! Now remember this is a double update day so... ONTO THE NEXT CHAPTER! Please reviewwww :) And Happy New Year everyone! Until next time~ V**


	15. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters.**

**A/N: Warning: Mild language.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 13**

With two weeks to go until Coronation day, Aelin's days became increasingly full.

They were filled with fittings, rehearsals, listening to bricks of pre-ascension paperwork— including the official designations of her new court members— endless council meetings for pressing end-of-war matters that ranged from the kingdom's shortage of food to visiting the wounded soldiers still in the palace's halls and arranging for the families of the deceased to be notified.

In the middle of all that, Aelin was doing her best to give Rhoe the attention he needed whether by cuddles or playtime. Plus, either carrying or keeping hold of his hand everywhere she went.

While busy, the days were pleasant overall.

But the nights were filled with terror.

Sunsets began to tie knots in her shoulders. The endings of dinners made her struggle to keep her meal from reappearing.

Once her family would settle into their beds, she'd take to studying the brail books from Wendlyn until her chest would tighten from the unwelcome thoughts that began to creep in.

Then she took to pacing. Pacing the room until the breeze she was creating woke her son.

After the first and only night of attempting to get Rhoe to sleep in his own room resulted in nothing but tremors and tears— and not just Rhoe's— the grand chaise lounge next to the balcony doors in their bedroom became his bed.

Aelin looked up from her studying at her desk at the delicate snore and smack of lips that issued from her four-year-old. A soft smile graced her features when he readjusted in his sleep to stretch out. When Rowan reclined on that chaise, he had to keep his knees bent or his feet would hang off the end. But another of Rhoe could fit on there before the bottom of its length was reached.

She wondered if he would get hers or his father's height once he was grown. Her smile changed directions. She didn't want to think about him growing up just yet.

"Are you coming to bed anytime soon?" Aelin jumped at Rowan's whisper and tender caress of her shoulder. He apologized and quickly pulled away.

Since the end of the war, Aelin had been pushing herself to allow her mate's touch. Some. But she hadn't managed to exactly embrace it yet. She at least wasn't snapping his head off at unexpected touches anymore. A major victory in her book.

But Rhoe wasn't warming up anymore to Rowan and she faulted herself for that… partly. Fenrys presence was also a catalyst. Yet, Aelin knew she hadn't been doing much to encourage any bonding between them with her discomfort still on full display whenever Rowan was around.

So, she pushed herself. But she couldn't help the reflex. Not when every shadow still held Cairn's confident figure and every touch sparked memories of unspeakable pain and shame.

Not when she had yet to uncover the truth about the past five years from her husband.

Dismissing his apology with a non-committal grunt, Aelin went back to her books. She flipped past the first page of a new chapter. "I'll join you after I finish this chapter."

"Must be an intriguing book to keep you up past two."

Was it that late already? She reached out to the brass clock to her right and felt for the flat antler-shaped hands. Big hand on the… four… and little hand… past the two. Huh. She hadn't even realized it'd been that long.

Now that she thought about it, her back was incredibly stiff. She placed the book's ribbon in the page and leaned back to stretch against the chair's cushy buttoned back with a muffled groan.

Rowan kept his steps and voice quiet, mindful of their little one, as he headed back to the bed. "Why are you keeping yourself up so late recently?" He stopped at the nightstand and put out the candle with a puff of his magic. "With all the meetings and appointments you're being dragged through, I'd expect you to be snoring at dinner."

Aelin rolled her head toward the balcony doors. The moon was shining brightly enough for her to make it out tonight despite it only being half-full. She wished she could make out the stars.

It'd been years since she'd seen them.

"The only time I see anything perfectly anymore is in my sleep," She reluctantly confessed, "And most of what I dream…" She shut her eyes, then turned them to Rowan's still outline sitting on their bed.

"They're all about Doranelle?"

She nodded and chewed on her lip. "It makes me feel like that's—" A cold laugh, "Like that's my only reality."

Rowan lowered himself slowly against the headboard. "Because that's the only thing you can see clearly."

"I can't see your face, your expressions, Aedion's, Lysandra's… Rhoe's." She looked toward his sleep-still blanket covered form. "I can't see what anyone's wearing. The colors of… anything. I can't even see the damn sky!"

An owl's distant hoots drifted into the room and she raked her fingers through her hair, shoving it back from her face. "What I always see though, in vivid detail, is _their_ faces. Maeve, Cairn, Con—"

Aelin wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. Exposed. She wouldn't finish that list.

"It makes me question if this isn't the dream instead. And every time I wake here, I'm really falling asleep."

Her breathing hitched. Shoving against the memories and the desk, she walked into the bathroom.

Aelin was the only one that heard as she leaned against the closed door and quakingly whispered, "I don't want to wake up to them anymore."

* * *

A finger with her day-old blood under its nail, stroked down her cheek and lingered across her collarbones. "Where should we start today, Aelin_?_"

Cairn's pain-promising voice had Aelin lurching up—dagger drawn— and assessing the shadowed room. Movement directly to her right had her twisting body and blade.

"Easy, Fireheart," Rowan soothed from beside her on their bed, shutting a worn book in his lap. "You're safe."

Panting through clenched teeth, Aelin shifted her blade away to the various dark shapes around. All furniture: Her desk, dressers, chairs, bookcases. No sadistic monsters.

A soft sigh and rustle of blankets to her left had Aelin lowering her dagger. The scent of honey and cotton drifted to her; her son. Pine and snow on her right; her husband. Her family. There was no one else.

Shakily, Aelin sheathed the dagger and slid it back under her pillow. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she continued to scan the room and muttered, "I heard him. I _felt_—"

Rowan set the civic book he'd been skimming— _Rare magic Vol. II: The outlawed_— down on the nightstand and watched his mate absently check herself over for her old bonds; Something she did many times a day now when she thought no one was looking.

"That has to be a record. You were barely asleep an hour before this dream hit."

Aelin kept rubbing her wrist as she mouthed, 'A dream.'

Rowan had to fight the intense urge to hold her. To comfort and shelter her. To chase away the memories. He knew she wouldn't allow it though. Instead, she allowed the memories to chase him away.

She grabbed the shaggy throw off the foot of the bed and turned to sit on the edge of the mattress. The throw went around her shoulders. A slow exhale. "You can get back to your reading."

"Are you okay?"

Aelin was still for a few breaths. Without so much as a backwards glance, she stood from the bed and crossed to and out the balcony doors.

* * *

For four more nights they continued in the same routine: Aelin would keep herself awake for as long as absolutely possible. Once asleep, it was never long before she'd awake from a nightmare or terror. Sometimes screaming, sometimes shaking in tears, and other times entirely frozen in panic. Rowan would attempt to calm her each time but Aelin would brush it off— brush _him_ off— and go out on the balcony. And Rowan would give her the space she wanted.

Some nights she was joined in bed or out on the balcony by Rhoe when he awoke from his own bad dreams.

But when she exited out to the balcony the following night, Rowan followed.

Careful not to disturb his son's soft and steady snoring, Rowan eased the glass door open and slipped out.

His mate's cloak covered back faced him as she gazed out—or rather attempted to— over the snow-covered field and forest beyond. Her land. Rowan knew it pained her to finally be back and be unable to see it. He knew he wasn't the only one that felt like she had still yet to truly return.

Though she didn't turn at his approach, her voice still reached him as she quietly asked, "Is Rhoe still sleeping?"

"Like a log."

Rowan leaned against the railing beside Aelin and watched the smoldering light dancing in her palms. It flared and settled slightly. Then again. And again, in time with her breaths. Though he couldn't see past the deep hood to her face, he didn't need to read her to understand she was grounding herself.

He'd never seen her use this exact technique before; The magic combined with measured breathing. From how unhindered her breathing was now as opposed to minutes ago in the bedroom, it seemed to be quite useful.

"It must be a relief to access your magic so freely again," Rowan said.

"Somewhat."

Rowan quirked a brow. "But not entirely?"

Silence.

Sighing, Rowan brushed snow off the top of the broad railing and gathered his courage. Every day was getting busier for the both of them as her coronation neared and he was sure it would only increase afterward— at least for the next couple of months.

Rowan wasn't sure he could take another minute of this distance between them much less months. So… "We need to talk, Aelin."

She stilled. "About?"

"About us." Rowan studied the bits of the constellations that peaked out through the dense clouds. "About the last five years."

The flames in her hands winked out. "I'm not talking about the last five years."

"We need to."

Aelin clenched the railing along with her jaw. Snowflakes that made it past the fog of her breath sizzled when they hit her skin.

"I need to, at least," Rowan amended. He angled himself towards his mate. "They won't leave you—those years. So, I'll join you in them."

Aelin's silence was now deafening.

"I miss you, Fireheart." He covered her smoldering hand with his. "I want you back here with me."

Aelin slid her hand away and didn't break her stare into the void. "What changed?"

Rowan looked at her sideways. "Changed?"

"What made you want me back all of a sudden?"

"It wasn't sudden." He crossed his arms. "I've missed you—wanted you back— every second since the beach."

"But what?" Aelin spun toward him. "You were just too busy here contenting yourself with my look-alike to _do_ anything?"

Rowan straightened. "What are you talking about?"

Aelin scoffed and turned back to gaze out over the snowy field. "Forget it."

Rowan had to clamp down on a frustrated growl. This was impossible. _She _was impossible. "You're jealous of my being with Lysandra? That's what you're mad about? Something _you _told—no— _ordered_ us to do?"

"I said forget it," Aelin coolly.

"Is that an order too?" As soon as the snide words fell past his lips, he regretted them. He cursed and raked his fingers through his bedraggled hair. This was just going perfectly. "I'm sorry—"

"I'll be back inside in a minute," She cut him off tonelessly. Coldly. Her hood covered face turned a fraction of an inch. "Good night, Rowan."

The words and wind cut right through him. "You're dismissing me."

"Yes."

Rowan looked his mate over and found her more unreadable than ever. An iciness gripping her that had nothing to do with the snow.

He gave a stiff bow. "My Queen."

Turning on his heel, Rowan strode for the balcony doors. Crushing the door knob beneath his hand, he paused and said over his shoulder, "You may prefer to not resolve what's between us, Aelin, but I still actually care about our marriage. If you want to only keep pretending for Rhoe then so be it. I'll play along. But I think for the sake of what we had…" His voice caught. "I at least deserve to know what poisoned your heart toward me."

The snow owl calling in the distant trees was the only sound.

Fine. Rowan pulled the door open and took one step inside the warm room.

"Where were you?"

The low words had almost been swallowed by the wind but they stopped him dead in his tracks. Rowan turned to see her back still to him. Her cape flinching in the wind the only part that wasn't statue-still. "What?"

"Where… were you?" Aelin turned slowly. Her eyes were flat and filled with unshed tears. The wind blew a few strands of hair out of her hood.

Rowan took a step back out and away from the door.

"_Five years_, Rowan." Their eyes met across the distance. "You left me for over _five years_."

"Around two months—before I even knew I was carrying Rhoe— Maeve told me you were seen here in Terrasen. With me—with Lysandra. I wasn't sure if it was true or if she'd just said it to torture me further. But then months more went by. And more. And I realized you weren't coming."

Neither of them noticed that the snow had stopped falling. Neither cared.

Aelin took a step closer, posture rigid. "Where were you when I gave birth to our child—shackled in a cell?" A shuddering breath. "I didn't even get to hold him afterwards. Maeve claimed him as hers—as her heir— and then _walked out with him_."

Rowan lowered himself to the nearest ottoman. The snow blanketing the furniture seeped into his sleep pants but it didn't register.

"Where were you for the countless hours I bled under that sadistic bastard's tools? The countless hours I called for you?" Aelin continued, "Where were you when I was—when Connall—the guards—?"

She looked away with a sob and tugged the cloak tighter and tighter around her until the fibers could give no further. "I pleaded with them to stop. I begged them. But they—they wouldn't!" A choked whimper, "And it _hurt_."

Rowan recalled the shape she'd been in when he'd found her. The grim looks between the healers in Wendlyn. The extensive amount of time they'd spent working under the blanket on her lower half. He'd never been under the impression that her assailants had gone easy on her. And he'd witnessed enough victims from previous wars to know that the worst pain— no matter how many or how little wounds on the body—was always in the soul.

"I held out through every damn thing they put me through for you. For Rhoe. For Elide and Aedion and everyone here."

Rowan remembered the words spoken years ago:_ Everything I do is for Terrasen_.

"I don't regret that." The owl's calls were answered by another before the forest went quiet. "But you accused me of not caring for our marriage anymore, and I have to ask what happened to "Whatever end"? Because I thought it meant _together_. But instead, you _left_ me. You chose our end."

"I didn't. I came, Aelin." Rowan crossed the veranda and reached for her hand.

"_No_!" Teeth bared, Aelin slammed back into the banister. Tears continued to spill down her cheeks and caused her voice to waiver, "You came when it was convenient for you. When I was needed for the war's final push. Where were you when _I_ needed_ you_?"

"Looking for you." The tears long since gathered in his eyes finally spilled over. "I was looking. Everyday."

"Bullsh*t." A broken sob buried the heat of the word.

"I was. I never stopped. It was _agony_ knowing— sometimes feeling— what they were doing to you and not being able to do anything about it." Rowan looked down at his hands. "I've never felt so helpless."

"When I came here to Terrasen it was to answer their calls for aid— as you'd told me to do— and to check for updates from our allies of any sign or hint of Maeve that I may have missed. Then I immediately went back out. I wouldn't sleep here. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't stop searching."

"But never Doranelle?" Aelin asked, unswayed. "I didn't move, Rowan."

"We searched Doranelle multiple times. It was completely uninhabited until that final time. I thought Maeve must've been keeping you somewhere else before that but—"

"I didn't move." Aelin repeated to the ground. "Maeve left for the keys. Whatever she'd been doing to keep us hidden must've lifted."

Aelin fell into a contemplative silence, her cloak remaining securely wrapped around her, and gazed back into the void over her shoulder. Into the west.

Rowan knew she was still trying to find her way home. Still lost. Only two feet away and she was still lost. Separated by a distance neither of them had created. Yet, unlike the past half of a decade, Rowan could see her now. He could see her pain and he shared in it. What'd been done to his mate… What she thought he'd decided to _leave_ her to…

Shakily, Rowan reiterated, "I never stopped looking for you."

Their red-rimmed, glistening eyes met. "You didn't?"

"Not once."

Aelin choked on another sob and stretched a trembling hand out. _I missed you_.

Rowan took her hand and kissed it, his knees threatening to give out at any second. _I missed you more._

Aelin wiped at her unceasing tears_. Buzzard._

_Brat._

A wet laugh bubbled out of Aelin and she allowed Rowan to embrace her. Tightly.

"I swore I would find you. And I did, you're here," Rowan squeezed her tighter. "But not nearly soon enough. And in that I failed. I failed you."

Aelin tried to fight the images flashing through her head. "I needed you." She pulled back to stroke the tears from his cheek. "But I still need you, Rowan." _I still love you_.

_I never stopped_. Rowan pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm here, Fireheart."

Minutes, priceless minutes, then an hour passed and they continued to simply hold each other. Their tears finally ran dry just as the grey early morning light began to announce the new day.

Now laying together atop a damp lounge chair, Rowan ran his fingers tenderly through his wife's silky hair. Everything about the moment was too wonderful to be real. Maybe he was still out searching the globe. Maybe he was dreaming in a mosquito infested jungle still separated from his family. He begged the gods that if this was a dream to never let him wake.

"I thought I would feel better once I fought Maeve, once I killed her." Aelin confessed quietly. "Thought I'd feel freer. But I don't."

Rowan remained silent, continuing to stoke her hair.

"Now they're all only memories but they're still… wounding me." A slow exhale. "How do you fight a memory?"

"You drown them out with new ones." Rowan tightened his arms around her. "Happy ones."

"I think Rhoe will help with that."

"Definitely. And about Rhoe…" Rowan nuzzled her and grinned softly. "We have a baby."

Aelin hummed into his chest. "Surprise."

"Just when exactly were you going to tell me?"

"When I knew." Aelin sat up and looked toward the bedroom doors. "He was a surprise to me too."

Rowan already couldn't bear knowing what she was going through all these years but then finding out she'd been _pregnant_ too… He steered the conversation to a lighter side. "I don't think he likes me."

"He doesn't like any new people. Give him time," Aelin laid back down and reached up to flick his nose, "Scowling less might also help."

Rowan scowled.

"You're doing it right now, aren't you?"

"No."

"Liar." Aelin snorted. "He also saw you 'hit' me and I think he picked up on my discomfort around you back in Varese. He's quite protective of me."

Rowan tensed. "Did he see them hurting you?"

"Once… the day I was blinded. And another time I think he only heard."

"He saw them blind you."

"No, they took him out before that. Fenrys and I had created a storybook for him that Maeve found. As punishment she made him watch as they… broke my hands." She was quiet before she gave a slightly wicked cackle. "He bit Maeve."

Rowan's smile was feral. "That's our boy."

* * *

**A/N: Chapter 14 coming as soon as possible. Check out the**** outtakes story in the meantime? Until next time ~V**


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